Prenderghast Puzzle: Center Piece
by Emori Loul
Summary: In the Spring of 1712, at the tail end of a great plague of yellow fever, sickly Julia Hopkins makes friends with Agatha Prenderghast, a girl who keeps sneaking into her back yard and getting into futile fights with her blueberry bushes. Because what *is* a witch, anyways? Act 1 of Prenderghast Puzzle.
1. Prologue

Welcome to _Prenderghast Puzzle, Act 1: Center Piece_, a story that has taken forever—and I mean_ forever_—to research.

This is Act 1. Act 3, _Filling in the Holes, _will be popping up soon after this one. _Act 2: Loosing Pieces_ will be deliberately delayed, for timing reasons, until Part 1 of Act 1 is completely finished. As it is a puzzle, it is recommended that you read all three in either the order they are updated while they are still being completed, or in whatever order you please, to have the full effect of each—despite being separated by chronological order, there is no actual order to how they should be read. They are separate stories in separate times, but very much linked. The order in which I post will be a suggested order, but the Acts can even be read backwards if you so desire (although you might have to wait until the story's finished to actually read it backwards).

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Prenderghast Puzzle, Act 1: Center Piece

Part 1: Making a Scene

_Prologue_

A Foreword.

Let it be known to all that come before me and all that come after: I have indeed (however unwillingly) followed tradition. As current Head of the family, I leave the records of my life to the library of my descendants—from the beginning to the end.

This shoddy book, and I apologize for the condition it is in, is the earliest record I have ever kept of my life. My mother thought it would be a worthy practice of my penmanship. It covers the autumn of 1711 to the autumn of 1712, a little over a full year of my life. Admittedly, as glad as I am for having an account of it, I truly despise this book. It, and this note, dredge up great pain.

Truly I believe that if anyone wished to know anything of my life, their curiosity would go no further than my late pre-bridal years. Before that I had no purpose and no tale to tell. My tale—horrible as it began—began here.

May I say, before we begin, that I firmly believe that Death is humanity's second companion. The first, of course, would be Life, though few ever give it the credit it is due. As the daughter of someone calling himself a pilgrim of the New World, Death was always emphasized. Both, however, are steadfast in their accompaniment, as guides and as raconteurs, and have a talent for teaching us exactly what we need to know, even if we find we do not like the lesson.

Blithe Hollow, the village in which I was born, was well acquainted with death, surprisingly so even in its earliest times. I doubt it will forget the dreadful year of 1712, because if there is one thing I have learned from Goodie Knotham, it is that people always relish speaking of tragedy as long as it is not their own. Though one would be hard-pressed to get any local to admit it, the year of 1712 was never the only hardship the town had seen. Few are willing to remember more troubling parts of the town's history—actually, few are even willing to remember the year of 1712, not in its entirety. Selective memory is for the guilty and the unstable. But speaking of that is for later.

Blithe Hollow almost never saw the year of 1712 at all. It almost never witnessed the strangely dry, mild winter it had in those early months, or the balmy days of summer that were, for the children, filled with bees and wildflowers and fireflies at night. We had almost abandoned the town all together, would have done so, too, if everywhere else were not just as bad. And I would have missed meeting some of the most important people I have ever met… and perhaps their lives would have been spared.

The year seventeen-hundred and eleven was the most horrific year any of us would remember, or so I thought. It certainly seemed like it then. We'd heard our blight had started in Boston and most were set a-panic when it finally arrived in our little village. The diggers couldn't dig fast enough to match the body count.

The New World's own plague, Yellow Fever, is disturbing enough to look at without all the dead bodies involved. The people of Blithe Hollow took all sorts of precautions against it. Giles Abery, a tradesman unable to set out on his ship because other towns were refusing our exports, had spent a whole day down at the vicar's and managed to arrange a house blessing to ward off the disease. Goodie Temper, the dairy woman, had requested for the same to protect herself and her daughter, but had, according to rumor, also led Father Hardwick to her ice house to bless her milk.

There are always better tactics, though, afforded to rich individuals, and in the early Fall, the patriarch of our family, the Honorable Judge Jonathan Hopkins, sent urgently to Basse River* for a nursemaid that had already contracted the Yellow Fever and recovered.

It was most unfortunate that she arrived too late.

Abigail, my dear beloved sister, died on the morning of September 7th, 1711, at the age of three years old. Many people remembered it as a very gloomy, wet Monday. The air rolled in off the sea thick and moist and hard for the ill to breath.

And I remember the day very well. It was the day that spelled the end for the awkward peace that our household had patched together over the years, and is a marker in my mind for the first calling to rise to the challenge of the hardest task I would ever encounter in life.

Living.

My mother was the one to discover Abigail's illness. The girl had refused to move the previous Wednesday morning, only a week earlier, and did not climb out of bed when called by Nanny Sharpe. The woman felt her forehead and, dreading over-exhaustion, let the girl rest while she went to fetch the mistress. Mother, already afraid of the plague, immediately called for the doctor. The doctor diagnosed Abigail and left, fearful of somehow catching her disease.

Mother did not take it very well. Frantic and overly-concerned, she abandoned her tutoring me and spent the next five days at Abigail's bedside, cleaning, treating and feeding her while often forgetting to take care of herself. Whenever she finally ran herself ragged and collapsed, I stepped in and the servants took my mother out of the room.

Abigail's bedroom was small and grey, with almost no toys (they were seen as frightfully improper) and very little furniture. It was because Abigail was a rambunctious child and loved to climb around, no matter how much her energy irked our father, that our mother had all of the furniture removed so she couldn't hurt herself. With the exception of her bed, a close stool with which to relieve herself, and a dresser that was much too large for her to jump atop of, her room was empty.

The nursemaid had not arrived in time from Basse River. I do not know how long the journey typically takes, as back then I rarely ever left the house and had never left the village, but I remember cursing the woman's delayed timing with everything I could manage. My sister, my giggly, smiley, tiny little sister, had been reduced to an off-color, shivering, vomiting, blood-spewing shell of herself, and then her breath had extinguished like a moth that had forgotten to flutter.

But the nursemaid was not without work. Out in the town, dozens were falling ill with the same symptoms. The Honorable Judge Hopkins instead recommended her to others who needed her care with the assurance that if we needed her again, God forbid we did, we would call on her. At least she would be closer.

The day Abigail died, Mother retired to her room at last for the first time in a week. Her face was pale and drawn, and she seemed to be in a daze. She came into my room just after sundown and faintly bade me goodnight before heading off to her room to sleep.

This, all who read, is where the seeds of madness were planted. Seven months before my life intersected with any of the Prenderghasts, I find myself looking back and realizing that the end had already begun.

~_Foreword of the 1711-1712 Diary of Julia Elizabeth Hopkins, 1743_

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_AN: The Prenderghast family fascinated me from the first time I saw the movie. Blithe Hollow is an intricate town in an intricately crafted world; a mix of realism, fantasy and especially satire. Implications have weight in that world, things left unsaid are still felt. Despite this mysterious family not getting a lot of focus, the hints alone lead to implications and questions. Thus, Prenderghast Puzzle: the story of a family—actually, two families—and how they survived those hellish three-hundred years._

_**A question for you guys: do you think I should stick with a K+ rating, or should I move to T because of obvious character death? Also, what do you hope this story will include? I've got the plot and the chapters pretty much set in stone, but I want to see what you guys think anyways.  
**_

_~Historical Notes & Extras~_

_Julia Hopkins: _

_One could say Julia will be the protagonist of the __Center Piece__ Act, with Aggie as the role of Deuteragonist. In the original drafts, this arc was planned from primarily Aggie's perspective, but I realized that while I can follow her at times, there were many problems with her being the protagonist if I intended this to be a long story—which I do. The main one is, if it was from Aggie's perspective, we already have an idea of how that would go. She was presented as a parallel to Norman, and the movie already thoroughly explored his experience as an outcast; her emotions would just feel like a rehashing of the movie, without the happy ending, and we also already know how the ending would go. It'd be sad, yes, but boring and predictable. Thus was born Julia, someone in position to see a different side of all of the characters, just by being, instead of victim, a blood relation of the supposed victor. She came into being because of my desire to explore who exactly the Judge was, but also to explore the Colonial Prenderghast family a little more (this is __**Prenderghast**__ Puzzle, after all!). And of course, her central conflict ties her into the new theme as well._

_Parallelism is presented throughout the movie between the modern era and what little we see of the witch hunts; its purpose was to emphasize and deconstruct the reality of bullying and ostracizing, and the horrible consequences, by showing both a 'good end' and a 'bad end.' Parallelism was used because, in this way, we didn't have to see more of Aggie's time to know the important things about it; her and Norman are similar enough that we already can guess__**. **__Parallelism is embedded into the fabric of the story because parallelism is why they designed the characters the way they did. To write a story about Blithe Hollow, you can't get away from it. Instead of severing it, I want to make a different kind of parallel between modern times and early times besides the one given in the movie: family._

_This fueled Julia's importance and conflict in the story besides just being there to witness the Witch Trials. We've seen the dysfunctional relationship between Norman and his family, but the one parallel not shown between Norman and Agatha was her family, as well as the obvious dysfunction of both modern and historical Blithe Hollow. There's also the 'middle-era' Prenderghasts and Norman's unnamed Great Uncle Prenderghast to talk about. In essence, the movie was ripe with interesting conflicts that were implied but never focused on (due to there being, obviously, only one movie), and I would like to explore that more._

_On the Geographic Area: Basse River was the old name of the town of Beverly, which is in fact very close to Salem. It was founded in the mid-17th century, so it surely would have been there in 1711. Because Blithe Hollow was supposed to be a smaller parody of Salem, Massachusetts, I'm acting as if the two towns were very close geographically, and as Beverly is relatively close to Salem, it is, in this, also very close to Blithe Hollow._

**There will be slight references to other series **throughout _Prenderghast Puzzle,_ and Act 3: _Filling in the Holes_ is a **full-on crossover**.


	2. Stuk 1: Par for the Course

Prenderghast Puzzle, Act 1

Stuk 1: Par for the Course

March 30th, 1712

There was always a big to-do down on the village green lately.

Julia was able to watch it from her window. Her window—a strange, clear, watery-looking plaque of dubious strength—was on the South side of the house, with the building facing East, and since the village courthouse was on the South curve of the ovular village green and nobody in the village ever had the originality to rally the people anywhere else, she usually had a very good view of whatever the newest commotion was.

The current debacle, it seemed, was hysteria, cleverly disguised as a debate.

Over the past nine months, Yellow Fever had swept the town. Freshly dug graves peppered the country side. There was nothing quite like calamity to stir the masses, and now that the siege of disease had calmed down a bit, people got on with the fun part of disaster.

Trying to decide whose fault it was.

Usually, Julia noticed, this involved a lot of white-face, tight-lipped people and a disgraceful amount of shouting. The two parties most involved with whatever had happened would always be the ones shouting the most, generally at each other, until they mutually arranged the idea that neither had anything to do with it and began shouting at someone else who was never particularly involved but always perfectly suspicious-looking.

Today they hadn't quite gotten that far yet. The two parties, a couple of tradesmen and a family of farmers from the outer rim of the village, hadn't seemed to get to the 'agreement' stage yet and were making an impressive show of themselves. Julia, who had been sitting at a small desk in front of the window, opened it a little wider to see if she could hear.

Whatever they were saying was very, very muffled. She was crestfallen; she would have loved to catch what was undoubtedly a very heated shouting match. It was a pity she wasn't allowed outside the house.

But she could guess the content, though. Rumor and suspicion had been mucking around the town for months, making a general mess of everything. She dearly hoped no one would lose their heads _completely,_ but it was a daunting task to keep one's sanity in the midst of all the chaos.

Before everything had gone so wrong, her mother had been the one to tutor her in all her subjects. Her father, the local judge, had been completely against it, saying that it was unnecessary when their family had enough money to hire their own tutors. Her mother had responded very angrily, as her decision to tutor her daughter had been based on the fact that her husband _wouldn't give_ Julia tutors. Julia's father slept in his study for the rest of the week, because her mother always went to bed first and persistently locked the door each night.

Her mother's lesson on the Salem Trials was not forgotten. How could she forget with reminders of it daily?

Over a decade ago, several officials, handpicked by the Governor himself, had been forced to make public apologies for killing over two dozen people and imprisoning a hundred others solely on the word of a bunch of gossiping adolescent girls—who had turned witch accusations into some sort of sick game and been allowed to do so until they'd accused the wrong official's wife. Not that anyone was allowed to describe it so flippantly anywhere else but behind closed doors and in one's mind; apparently it wouldn't be proper to address these girls as what they were.

But a craze like that could catch like fire to parched leaves, and it seemed, more and more, that Blithe Hollow was being set ablaze.

She knew why the fishermen and the farmers were the ones fighting. They had been the first groups to get the disease. Popular theory suggested that the disease either entered town on one of the ships or it came from one of the farmers' trips to other villages to sell his goods.

She wondered who they would pin the blame on this time.

For months, Blithe Hollow had been the sight of the most appalling of practices. Witch Trials, once something her father had scoffed at in the local bulletins when news from big cities like Salem and Boston came in, were now a common part of his job in the village. Julia supposed he was trying to find a reason for what had happened to her mother.

There was an obvious reason. Even Julia could see it. But if he didn't want to see it now, he wouldn't find it there.

The shouting down in the green had stopped now. Alerted by the strange silence, Julia leaned over the window sill to see her father, the Honorable Judge Hopkins, standing on the steps of the courthouse and glaring at the crowd with the most severe of expressions. He was moving his mouth and gesturing with his hands; she guessed he was telling people to clear off.

Julia sighed. Now there was nothing to distract her from her studies. Opening her desk, she withdrew a black ink bottle, a quill pen, and some scraps she had written on earlier, intent to finish her calligraphy practice before Miss Sharpe showed up.

There was always something to do in her little room, though it was rare she actually enjoyed it. Most of her days were spent studying calligraphy, geography, philosophy, history, and vocabulary. She was fighting a losing battle with the practice of sewing as well; since her family had changed so much, she was now expected to take on the work role of her mother and her brother, and to do so behind closed doors where no one could see her.

When one does not know much of the outside world, one does not miss it. Still, the greatest pain to living like a ghost was the knowledge that beyond the walls of her own fairytale tower was a world to live in, and she both craved and despised her studies for shoving that fact in her face.

Before the autumn of 1711, Miss Sharpe was usually the only person Julia had any contact with besides her own mother, but her father was now becoming a more frequent guest. Every time he entered, he looked more awkward than intimidating, and Julia wondered if he was trying to extend the olive branch eight months belated.

Looking down at the pen in her hand, Julia sighed, and, in the ways most people procrastinate, found a reason to pause by remembering that she had not washed that morning.

Her face, she reasoned, was very moist, and as it was already the afternoon, if she did not wash soon she would reek something fierce.

Getting up carefully from her desk chair, she pulled the curtains shut over both her windows and walked over to the bookshelf on the north wall. Bending down, she slid a wainscot panel back into the wall and pulled from it a bathing tin, water pail, and scrub brush.

The problem with being concerned about scents in Julia's era was that everybody and everything seemed to smell. _Badly_. Most people, Julia noted, didn't even notice the odor unless the source was pressed right up against them, but frankly Julia found it disgusting. Her mother had said that her nose must've been especially sensitive, and wasn't able to properly adjust to even the most common scents. Her father thought it was just another reason why she was the problem child.

After removing her nightdress and scrubbing herself clean, Julia dumped the water from the tin out the window and donned her shift, petticoats, day dress and coif, all of which were colored black. She was still supposed to be in mourning, so whether or not others could see her, the only clothes she had been allowed to wear since autumn were black.

She left her room for the first time that day and headed to the kitchen, where a maid had her lunch ready. Sitting down at the table in the kitchen, the woman put a bowl of stew in front of her and hurried to get the other dishes.

"Miss Sarah," she said over her bowl. The maid paused in her act of placing food in front of her and looked up. "My father will be coming home soon, and probably in quite a temper. I have enough food here already; I think it would be best if you were to prepare his."

The young woman smiled at her. "Thank you for telling me, miss. Heaven knows your father's probably worked up quite a rage for you to mention it. What is it now, if you don't mind?"

Julia shook her head. "I wasn't able to hear much. I don't know why; today is quite clear. But I saw the Blackton family fighting with a couple of sailors on the courthouse steps. Father stepped in to break it up."

Miss Sarah tsk'd. "It's been a terrible few months for that poor man, really. I expect there'll be another trial soon."

"I certainly hope not. I've had enough of watching them chase off neighbors. Has the Queen not instructed us to be strong and united? To the west of us everyone's terrified of Indian attacks and we can't even stop attacking each other." Julia frowned at the end of her spoon.

"Cheer up, girl," said Miss Sarah. "At least no one's gone to graves from it yet. We're still standing tall against Salem Town for that! And even if someone does, I'll bet you it'll be that Widow Holbrook. Witch if I ever saw one, that one, and barmy as a bedbug. It's no one's loss, really."

Julia didn't look convinced. "No one has any sense anymore. Yesterday Father said he went to Goodie Prenderghast's house and told her off for essentially giving people medicine that _worked_. He kept muttering about 'that infuriating woman' all last night in his study; I don't even think he went to bed. As if any witch would dole out cures for the suffering!"

"Goodie Prenderghast?" Miss Sarah actually laughed. "You don't need to worry about that one, girl! She's a tough woman, that Goodie Prenderghast. She could certainly set your father straight if she put her mind to it; no wonder he was so annoyed. But she's no witch."

Out in the hallway the front door banged, and Miss Sarah jumped up, nearly knocking over Julia's cider. "Sorry," she said quickly, then dashed into the formal dining room.

A quick, loud conversation and Miss Sarah came back gesturing silently for Julia to go into the dining room while she rushed over to gather pots at the wood-stove.

Somewhat nervously, Julia approached the archway into the dining room.

Her father, the Honorable Judge Hopkins, sat in his high-backed chair at the head of the table scowling at the iron candelabra centerpiece for lack of anything else to glare at. His wig was looking slightly disheveled and was lacking its usual amount of powder, and he was leaning on the table with his elbows, which was considered terribly poor table manners and was something he never did unless he was really upset.

She walked modestly and primly into the room and took a seat at the other end of the table. Miss Sarah immediately came out and placed the food she had been eating in front of her.

Her father stared wearily. "You were eating in the kitchen again? You know I'd prefer you eat here at the table, Julia."

"I'm sorry, Father," she answered politely. "The chairs in the kitchen are more comfortable, and without you here I find no reason to eat at an empty table."

"Impertinence, child. It will be your downfall," chided the weary man, but it lacked its usual bite. He sighed. "I don't know how this can carry on. They've already brought before me five women accused of witchcraft, and all have fled before their trials. Yet they keep trying to find more."

"Is that what the argument was about in front of the courthouse, Father?" At his raised eyebrow, she blushed. "I couldn't help but see the group gathering. They were quite noisy."

An unsaid _'I bet you could'_ hung in the air, before her father admitted, "Yes, unfortunately." As Miss Sarah placed a tea cup and saucer in front of him, the Judge took a drink. "But now they're even going after grown men. As if Farmer Blackton was a witch! The second the thought left Parkinson's mouth, Goodie Temper came and smacked him with a wooden spoon. It would've turned into some sort of mob if no one had stopped them." Taking another sip of tea, he added, "I'm beginning to suspect, Julia, that the people in this town are quite abnormal enough, even if none of them _are_ witches."

Finishing her meal, Julia smiled in his presence for the first time in months. "Father, I don't think there's ever really been such a thing as normal when it comes to people. Certainly not to the ones we know, anyways."

Her father gave her one of his looks that told her she'd said something unusual again, before she asked to be excused from the table and he excused her. On her way back to her room (passing Miss Sarah, who gave her a timid smile), Julia caught sight of movement out the hallway's west window, and caught a glimpse of a brown dress hem disappearing into the blueberry bushes in her garden before everything went still.

Smiling and making a note to catch the girl later, Julia returned to her dratted calligraphy practice.

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_AN: Aggie should appear soon, and then the ball truly gets rolling._

**_Historical Notes & Extras:_**

_*On Julia's Sense of Smell: Skip the next few paragraphs if you don't want to listen to nerd medi-babble._

_To emphasize Julia's difference from the other Puritans but not alienate her from general readers, Julia had to do something, or be something, that was widely accepted in modern times but would be horrifically improper to the Puritans__. I chose bathing—for the obvious reasons of 'most people didn't do it' and 'god they must've been disgusting.' People then didn't bathe because bathing opened the pores, and due to other poor sanitation practices also in place, this helped spread disease. My excuse for Julia bathing is that she suffers from Hyperosmia, which works, as I understand it, like this:_

_Normally, noses can get adjusted to smells. Twenty years ago most people didn't flinch at the smell of Tobacco smoke because it was everywhere and people were used to it, but now-a-days smelling it is enough to make some people gag. Likewise, people in the Dark Ages and early modern period couldn't smell themselves; they were too used to it. However, they often could smell the stench of each other if they were in close proximity. This led to the invention of perfume—not as a way to make yourself smell better, but to keep from smelling others. You can test this yourself; constant contact with bad-smelling (or good smelling) environments will cause your nose to work in slight cycles of smell detection and nondetection until you don't notice the scent at all._

_Hyperosmia is a disorder in which there is some malfunction between the nose and the brain. The nose will pick up some smells normally; however, there are also certain smells—different for each affected person—that are magnified greatly simply because the nose registers them as 'foreign,' no matter how many times or how long the person has been in contact with the odor or the substance that causes it. The nose simply doesn't adjust. It is not an allergy; smelling these certain scents will not cause a Hyperosmiac to sneeze or suffer severe health problems. It will simply be overwhelming._

_You can imagine, then, why the inability to block out unwashed human stench would drive someone to bathe and clean despite the health risks._

_*On Clothing: Julia wears black in this chapter, and it is pointed out as abnormal. You would think, though, that proper Puritans wore black all the time! But this is not so, and therefore Julia's attire _is_ notable. Black dye back then was very, very expensive, and cheaper black dyes of the day would turn a grungy brown or blue in the wash, so most people didn't have black clothes, and when they did, they only wore it for special things like portraits, mourning periods, and court trials. The idea that pilgrims all wore black all the time is very much false. Julia, as a fairly well-off Puritan girl, would have the money for black clothes, but certainly wouldn't wear them every day unless there was special cause. In this case, she is the only female left to go into mourning for her deceased family. __Judge Hopkins, of course, wears black most often, as he is a Judge and must dress formally for his work. However, as shown, he's lacking in some of his attire - he has not powdered his wig lately, demonstrating his distraction and exhaustion._

_*On Language: 'thee' and 'thine' and the like went out of fashion in the seventeenth century. Originally, before coming across that piece of information in my research, this _entire act_ had been written using those ancient pronouns, because I thought it would help better solidify the 'back in time' setting. Some of the deleted scenes, which will be included at the end, still have that. I settled instead for a combination of modern Queen's English and Shakespearean language, as nobody quite knows how the pilgrims talked in everyday life. _

_*Julia's "Disfigurement": Uh-uh. That's a spoiler that, once known, will make pretty obvious how she fits in in relation to the other characters of the other acts._

**Next update is Act 3: we return to Salma as she glares down the horrible reproduction of the Hopkins House.**


	3. Stuk 2: Wake Up Call

Prenderghast Puzzle

Stuk 2: Wake Up Call

April 10th, 1712

It wasn't as though Julia didn't know the girl was in her garden.

She knew, of course. The younger girl was hardly quiet. Julia could hear her voice from her window even if she couldn't see the backyard; the girl was talking and narrating her activities to herself as she struggled to search under the leaves of each plant.

Leaving her room, Julia proceeded a little ways down the hallway to the window that opened to the back.

She didn't try to hide. The girl looked too preoccupied with what she was doing to even notice a pale face popping out from the second floor window.

Julia had never met Goodie Prenderghast. She'd heard of her, though—with a father like Julia's, that wasn't a surprise—and she'd seen the woman in the streets sometimes from her window, accompanied by her family or just on her own. It was enough, certainly, to recognize that the girl in the garden was most likely her eldest daughter, Agatha.

Julia didn't know much about town gossip, but whenever her father wasn't home, Miss Sarah would tell her about the others in the village. Since her father didn't like her going out, this was an invaluable tool for a better glimpse of the world. According to Miss Sarah, Agatha was an up-and-coming seamstress like her mother was now, very talented and creative, but with the most peculiar hobbies. Though Miss Sarah herself didn't hold much stock in the rumor-mongering of Goodie Knotham, she'd overheard the woman saying that the child was quite rambunctious and loved to explore places she was told not to.

And no uninvited child had ever come into the Judge's yard before.

"Hello!" Julia called.

The girl started, jerked around, and stared up at Julia as if she was the picture of a nightmare.

"H-hello," stuttered out the tiny girl.

"Wait down there," Julia called, her curiosity and suspicion getting the best of her, "I won't be a minute!"

Personally, Julia was sure Agatha was about to bolt through the blueberry bush again.

She ran back into her room, checked the mirror to make sure her coif was still covering her hair, ripped her veil off the dresser, and dashed out down the staircase, into the kitchen, and out the back.

Agatha was still there when she ran out the kitchen door—but only because the hem of her skirt was caught in the twigs of the blueberries. She stopped struggling to free herself when she saw Julia, instead adopting a shocked, fright-stricken appearance.

For the Harbormaster's child, she looked rather small and certainly not as filled out as Julia. She was perhaps nine or ten years old, with a white coif instead of black like Julia's own, and she wore a faded brown dress and an apron, the pockets of which were full to bursting with various wildflowers. She was pale, with watery blue eyes that seemed strange to Julia for some reason and very dark, very straight hair, making her pale skin all the more apparent. For a child that, according to rumor, spent all her time outside, she was far too pallid.

And she looked even paler at the moment, what with being caught trespassing on the Judge's property by a blueberry bush.

"Need help?" Julia asked wryly.

Agatha wordlessly nodded, still frozen to the spot.

Julia sighed, then bent down on the ground next to Agatha and attempted to free the fabric. While she worked, she asked, "I don't suppose you'll tell me why you were sneaking around my garden, hmm?"

She didn't look up, so she couldn't see the other girl's face, but it took some time to get an answer.

"I-I was looking for a toy I lost in here. I… I came by yesterday. I know I shouldn't have, but I left something here that's mine."

Julia hummed in response again. With a slight plucking noise, part of the bush came off her companion's skirt. "I see. And what was it?"

"Ah…w-what was it?"

"That's right."

"Uh… just an… old toy for my sister! I was, uh, fixing it, but it, um, fell out of my pocket…"

"Oh," Julia said. "I'd better help you look for it, then."

"N-no need!" Agatha immediately intercepted. "I… I don't think it's here after all, you see!"

Julia said nothing as she removed the last remains of the branches from the weave of Agatha's skirt. Immediately the girl jumped away.

But Julia stayed, and for a moment there was stillness in the garden.

Then, all at once, Agatha turned and ran towards the garden gate. Without raising her voice or looking up, Julia said, "If Abby's looking for something, you should just ask."

Agatha froze at the gate, then turned on her heals and glared hatefully at Julia. The child in mourning was surprised to see what looked like the beginning of tears in her eyes.

"Just stop it!" she spit out, before throwing open the garden gate and running away towards the edges of town, slightly stretched skirt hem tailing behind her.

That was the other strange thing about the girl—one that even Goodie Knotham knew to keep quiet. Still, it didn't stop her from confiding in her closest friend, Miss Sarah, and it certainly didn't stop Miss Sarah from talking about it with the pitiful motherless girl she saw as a charity case.

But it was something Julia knew she'd never repeat to anyone. She knew what it would mean, especially now.

It wasn't that far of a stretch of the imagination from spirits to witches.

* * *

_AN: Imaginary friends were looked on as sins (talking to something that isn't there? Witchcraft!) but I suppose many children still had them, being a natural part of childhood and all. They are common enough that children would notice Aggie's abilities but the adults would pass it off as her being imaginative. Ghosts or imaginary friends, however, are both looked down upon—just one more than the other._

_Also, Julia has a garden. It's walled off for the most part, making it difficult to enter and hard to see into, so few people can see her. Usually the cook would tend to it (and she does help), but it's the only opportunity Julia has to regularly go outside, so she begged the woman to let her do it. _

_This stuk is far shorter, because it was divided in half. It didn't flow right, so it was split._

**Next Update is in Act 3: Norman, Salma and Neil get their creep on in a graveyard. There's a shovel and something six feet under involved.**


	4. Stuk 3: Down to Earth

Prenderghast Puzzle

Stuk 3: Down to Earth

Julia didn't see Agatha for several days after that. Instead she wasted the days away like she always had, reading, talking with Miss Sarah when her father wasn't around to yell at her for the impropriety, writing in her journal, and practicing her (formal) calligraphy sets only whenever Miss Sharpe was in near-dangerous proximity.

But Julia eventually caught her sneaking in again. Well, she'd like to have said that—she'd always had exceptional eyesight, after all, perhaps it was God's way of apologizing for giving her such horrible eyes—but really, it wasn't she that caught the girl, rather it was she that took notice.

The dusk of April 14th found Agatha Prenderghast tied up in her blueberry bushes again.

"Why _are_ you so obsessed with those blueberries?" Julia whispered, eyes darting between the bushes and her father's bedroom window.

"Why are your blueberries so obsessed with _me_?" whispered Agatha in return.

Luckily it was not just the blueberries keeping her there. Julia had wedged a nail into the outside of the lock on the garden gate days ago, back when Agatha had first run away from her, and placed a little pebble in the bolt rack to keep it from shutting properly when she closed it. The pebble fell out when the gate was opened, the nail fell into place, and Agatha, having no idea of such a trick, had effectively locked herself in. The ill-placed bolt could only be removed from outside the garden gate, and unless Agatha wanted to climb over picket fences in her petticoats, she would need Julia to go through the house to the outside just to escape the garden.

Well, that, or go into Julia's house herself… and risk being caught trespassing by the Judge.

When Agatha had found out about this little bit of trickery, she fumed quietly on the back door's stone stoop for a good ten minutes while Julia stargazed.

"That was a dirty trick," Agatha mumbled grudgingly.

Finally, she speaks! "You wouldn't have sat through any conversation at all if you had a way to get out of it."

"Yeah, well…" the other girl stretched out on the stoop. "I'd rather avoid being teased, if I can help it." Agatha laid down on the stone, joining her in looking up at the stars. "Are you sure it's okay to pen me up in here? Your father hasn't extinguished his candle yet; he may notice."

"He hasn't noticed much for the last few months. Father's just too busy working." Julia sighed. "He'll drive himself mad like that."

It was a little chilly, lying on the flat stone behind her house. The winter hadn't entirely thawed out yet, and summer hadn't begun to its yearly traverse. An April night chill, however, was hardly going to stop her.

"I'm sorry," Julia whispered quietly.

"I know," Agatha said. "She said so. It's my fault, anyways. I just assumed…"

"I just…" Julia sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. The hems of her skirts covered all but the dainty tips of her toes, bare in the cool of the early night. If her father noticed her shoes missing, he'd know she'd broken curfew and—even worse—gone outside without his permission. "I wanted to hear from them again."

Agatha sat up too, and looked down at her hands. She said nothing.

"I'm not usually this spontaneous, either," Julia sighed to the ground. "I just didn't think I'd get another chance to talk to you. It's not like Father would let me out to find you."

"Why?" Agatha asked. Julia was slightly surprised by her curiosity. Didn't the girl want to _end_ the conversation?

"I suppose part of the reason is because I get sick easily. It was big shock when I lived."

Another heavy silence. Julia had the feeling Agatha was waiting for her to say something. Either that or they were both waiting for _something_ to end the silence.

"_Moeder_ doesn't like people knowing," Agatha finally said, her word for _mother_ coming out more like _mortar_. "You know—about me. She won't talk about why, but she's always said that people would hurt us if they knew."

"I won't tell," Julia muttered, "But you might want to check out Goodie Knotham. If you really want something a secret, she's the _worst_ person to tell."

Agatha laughed as well, albeit nervously. "Yes, I know. I tell _Moeder_ that all the time, but they're great friends. Besides, Goodie Knotham would never tell anyone anything that would hurt our family."

"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

Agatha's laugh froze, and she stared at Julia across the dimness of the early spring starlight.

"…That's dark."

Julia shrugged. "Thus is the world."

"Not really. Everyone has their struggles, but isn't that why we're put here?"

"There are many that do not get that chance." Julia shot her a look. "From your own admittance, you know that."

Blinking, Agatha's face slowly became more genuine. Shaking off the last vestiges of shyness and discomfort, the girl seemed to have remembered Julia was very much like the souls she often comforted for loss. The only difference was that Julia still lived.

For some reason, Agatha's change in expression made Julia the uncomfortable one, and for the first time that night Julia felt she was no longer the one in control.

"But that's the way the world is. Some die, some live. It's not like they disappear, they just…" Agatha gestured vacantly with her hands. "Move on. We all do that—none of us can cling to the past forever. So it's not really a bad thing, so much as it's… well, it's different. Most people just don't like it because they don't know much about it."

"…It… isn't a bad thing?"

"No!" Agatha said, strangely cheery as Julia seemed to get it. "They're not gone, you just can't see them. But they can't get hurt, I don't think, and they can't feel pain, and they move on with their… well, not with their lives, but…"

Julia watched the girl struggle to explain.

"So you really can see spirits?" Julia said wryly.

Freezing and realizing what she just implied, the younger girl clammed up again.

"Um…"

Julia smiled wearily. "Did you really come into the garden to look for _your_ sister's toy?"

Agatha had the manners to look slightly embarrassed by this. "No."

That was all Julia needed to know.

* * *

_AN: Originally this conversation was going to get much more depressing and long—but hey, they just met each other. They know things about each other—well, vaguely—but not so much that they would trust each other with more than they already know each other knows just yet. Instead that kind of rather pivotal conversation will be saved for later._

_Nothing new for this chapter, but watch this space. Interesting things might just show up…_

_And if nothing else, the Next Time's are always slightly amusing._

**Tomorrow, an update on Act 3: Coraline explores the empty halls of Louvé Manor and finds the best damn Victorian super-villain lair ever. Also: _dust_.**


	5. Stuk 4: Ugly Duckling

Prenderghast Puzzle

Stuk 4: Ugly Duckling

Agatha—or Aggie, as she preferred to be called—visited frequently after that, though usually never in the brighter hours of the day and never when anyone else was outside. For the most part, she was an easy friend to make: she never questioned the fact that Julia always wore her thick black veil, and seemed to, at least in the early days of their friendship, respect the geographical boundaries outside of which Julia was not allowed to travel—which, back then, was everywhere outside of her garden fence.

The more time Aggie spent with Julia stargazing in the garden on the stoop, the more her initial nervous disposition faded. While at first she was reluctant to speak of anything, the slowly began to open up to the point where, on many nights, Julia would hardly say a thing, and Agatha would talk and talk about her stupidly stingy older brother Kenny, and her father, who was currently organizing men to send up to this new school they were building in Cambridge, and her great fear of the Widow Holbrook, who kept picking up and shaking cats in her direction whenever they passed on the green ("Miss Sarah thinks she's a witch," Julia had said. "Moerder thinks she's just mad," Aggie had replied).

There even came a day when Aggie finally had enough courage to tell her about the Indian children.

"They are up in the woods, you see," she had said one visiting twilight, winding her black, black hair around her index finger, "The Naumkeags used to live by the shore here, but a bunch of people came and fought them off. I used to play with them as a child."

"What are they like?" Julia asked.

"Nice," Aggie said quietly, pawing the ground with the tip of her right shoe in thought. "Most of them are Braves who died fighting, so they're not pleasant to look at, but I think they get lonely too." She added quieter, "Their people are more accepting of death, I think. So there are fewer of them. There are already almost as many ghosts of White men here now. I actually don't know why the few that stayed behind _did—_they all seem perfectly content. There's this Wise Woman who gives me advice, sometimes. And Hestus—that's not his real name, but I can't pronounce that and I found 'Hestus' in Moerder's book—he keeps an eye on me for Moerder. She is easily worried, you see."

Julia quickly looked around the darkened garden. "Is he here _now?_" she whispered, as if whispering would actually matter.

Aggie actually giggled. "No, but he's probably hiding somewhere in the tree line." She gestured past the garden gate and out over the field to where the tree line met the wild grasses.

"Yes, _now_ I am comfortable," Julia said in strangely deadened monotone, causing Aggie to giggle again.

Despite her sometimes negative attitude and the still slightly awkward nature of their relationship, Julia saw those days as some of the happiest days of her life. There were times, Julia thought—or maybe hoped—that Aggie felt the same; she spoke like she couldn't figure out how to get words out of her mouth, like she'd never had anyone to share them with before, and like she'd never get a chance to do so again. It both warmed her heart and saddened her greatly: Julia was the one under lock and key, but this girl was proof that even with the freedom of the outside world, you could still feel so horribly enclosed.

A slight bump in Julia's happiness came when, about a week and a half after their first meeting and shortly after committing to her weekly inking, Agatha showed up inside the kitchen, talking with Miss Sarah, Cook, and, surprisingly, Amelia Wilcott.

"Wha—Aggie!" She cried.

Miss Sarah, turning away from the wood-stove she was tending, looked at her in surprised before beaming. "Good morning, miss! So you've become acquainted with our Aggie, then? Just brought over a bunch of spices from Goodie Prenderghast's garden; you'd get on well with her, I think. She's a master of the vegetable patch, that Mary!"

Julia blinked. "Why thank you, Aggie. But what are you doing here?"

"Moerder asked me to bring over some powdered herbs for your spice rack—I'm pretty sure she's trying to bribe you into sticking around." Aggie grinned uncertainly.

"But I'm not going anywhere," Julia replied, sounding slightly concerned. "You're the one visiting me."

Cook then decided to run right over their conversation. "I have to admit it, Goodie Prenderghast has the best garden," she announced fondly to the kitchen, inspecting the jars of spices as if they were precious treasures and smiling slightly manically at Julia.

"Well if she didn't abuse her husband's control over the trader's ships," muttered Miss Wilcott, local Custodian of the Gardens.*

"Pardon me," said Cook to Julia, who seemed to be growing distressed for some reason, before turning to face their second uninvited guest. "_Why_ are you here again?"

Julia grabbed Aggie by the sleeve and pulled her from the kitchen. Seconds before the door shut behind them, the kitchen erupted in shouting.

"What was _that?_" Aggie asked, passing the dining table and pointing at the kitchen with her thumb.

"Cook and Miss Wilcott," Julia answered, hurriedly. "They hate each other. Cook and I take care of our herb garden, but Father pays Miss Wilcott a little extra if she gives our flower garden the same treatment as the gardens around the Court House. She really shouldn't be here, but Cook hates her so she's always popping in just for spite." Julia bit her lip. "I hope she doesn't tell Father you were here. He doesn't like people around our house—and especially doesn't like them talking to me."

She swung the door to the garden out and marched over to her favorite sitting rock. There were plenty of rocks in the colony of Massachusetts, and this one in particular was too heavy to be lifted out of the garden. Flinging herself down on top of it, she flinched and pulled the veil further over her face. She wasn't used to the mid-day sun.

"You seem upset," Aggie prodded hesitantly.

Julia raised her eyebrows and gave her a look that said, '_you __**think?**__' _But unfortunately, as she was wearing a veil, the effect was marginalized.

Aggie sat down next to her on the rock—which was impressive, as Julia's black skirts were quite substantial that day. "Why?"

Julia shrugged half-heartedly, gazing at the fence posts. "Father's probably not going to let me out in the evenings anymore, if he finds you've been coming around."

"Again, why?"

"A lot of things," Julia said, ambiguously waving her hand in the air, "Mother insisted on giving me an education, so he's having a hard time finding a suitor for me, I sometimes express my opinion in inappropriate places during conversations, I have a really strange sense of smell and being near certain places or people makes me physically ill, my handwriting's neater than his, my deformity…"

Aggie blinked. _"Deformity?_"

"Yes."

And there was finality in it, a closing of the question session, and Aggie didn't ask again.

But there was also finality in Aggie's expression that Julia was surprised to see - the most emotional variety she'd seen from Aggie ran from 'terrified' to 'enthusiastic,' but she'd never seen determination - and, ignoring the uncomfortable moment of silence, Aggie got up from the rock and began attempting to climb the persimmon tree in the fence corner.

"I didn't know," she huffed from exertion, clinging to the bark, "that persimmons grew around here."

"They don't, usually," Julia answered, after a short delay, surprised at her friend's seemingly random behavior. "Some seeds were sent up from Hartford for Cook; I don't know why but she keeps putting them in this contraption that looks like a juicer. Anyways, when I was really little, I asked her why she kept wasting the seeds, so she gave me one and she and Mother bullied Father into letting me out into the garden, and Cook taught me how to plant it."

"That's better than my first time planting," Aggie said, lifting herself fully onto the lowest branch. "Moerder's always teasing me over how I used to take seeds and jab them halfway into the ground with my fingers, and expected her to be proud of me. According to her, I haven't gotten any better."

"But you're a good seamstress," Julia reminded, feeling slightly bad that Aggie was telling what must've been an embarrassing story just so Julia'd feel better. She stood up and walked over to the tree's trunk to see her friend better.

"Yes, and I heard from Miss Sharp that you mangle the simplest stitch, so we're equals." Aggie lay like an outstretched cat on the first bow of the tree, and dropped her hand down. "Do you want to come up?"

"Up the tree?" Julia asked. "Why?"

"Because it's fun," Aggie said, "And because other children get to do it, and so you should get to do it too."

"But—" Aggie tugged slightly harder on her right hand, and Julia, flustered and suddenly very nervous, put her right foot on a knothole and clawed the tree's bark with her left.

For someone a head shorter than her and skinnier than a skeleton, Agatha was surprisingly strong, and she pulled Julia up by her arms until she was able to grab the bow next to Aggie's.

Julia huffed and shook with the exertion of her rarely-used muscles, squinting her eyes until she was completely on the branch.

And then she looked down.

Nononononono_nonononononononononononononononono_

There was screaming, and bright flashes of earth, and a collision of some sort, and _ABODYFALLINGABODYFALLINGGOLDHAIRLONGBREEZEBLOWINGABODYFALLING__MOTHERDOWNTHEEARTHENHOLEFALLINGFALLINGFALLINGABODYFALLING…_

And then next thing she knew, her head hurt, her face was pressed against the scraggly texture of grass, someone was crying and shaking her arm, and a male voice, old and hurt and authoritative, was telling someone to _get away from my daughter_.

And she opened her eyes, and saw that the person who was clenching her hand so hard the skin had started to pinken was Aggie, and the male…

…was her father.

And Agatha whimpered, again returning to 'terrified,' and emitted a sound that was sad and defeated.

"I suppose we can't do things like other children after all."

* * *

_AN: Yeeaaaaaaaaaaaaah._

_Julia kind of had a… panic attack in the tree. For those of you who couldn't pick up on that from the, um, screaming… _

_And what _is_ with all that random imagery? Not as random as you'd think._

_At least her best friend gets to meet her dad! Wonderful, right? :D …right?_

_I honestly feel as though this chapter didn't flow succinctly. I may rewrite it, but I have to distance myself from it awhile to get a clear head so I can judge better later._

_Historical Notes & Extras:_

_*Aggie's father, in my story, is the harbormaster, as mentioned earlier - therefore, he gets the first pick of what_

_Two new characters appeared in this chapter—but only one was created by me! Yes, one is considered ParaNorman canon! But how? _

**Next time, an update on Act 3: Norman's feeling slightly distanced from his mother, and Salma will never stop trying to beat college text books in how fast she can lose people's attention… until she brings up some mental scars Norman would prefer not to re-open.**


	6. Interlude: Just Fairytales

Prenderghast Puzzle

Interlude: Just Fairytales

April 16th, 1703

Cecily loved to tell her daughter stories.

Her husband didn't approve; he feared it would inspire bad ideas, or worse, scare her. But there was really no reason for him to believe this, for even Julia, small child that she was, knew they weren't real.

Sometimes she would tell the child fairytales, other times legends of knights, and on the rare occasion she would share an ancient myth or two she'd learned from her grandmother in England. Julia would snuggle under the covers, silent and still as a mouse, her hair free and face uncovered for the first time that day, and listen with rapture to her mother's story.

Today's story was something she was sure her husband wouldn't approve of. Honestly, underneath the intimidating Judge façade beat something else other than the ice cold heart of a Protestant Englishman—they were _raised_ on dark truths, and he still wanted to mollycoddle his youngest from reality. He and Cecily both knew it was because it was going to be a little harder for Julia than it was for everyone else, but if kept this up, she was going to end up fighting with him about their daughter even getting an education at all.

And it was something Cecily, despite her husband's wishes, felt she needed to do. Her father-in-law Isaac wasn't going to last forever in the condition he was in, and when the time came that he was no longer around, she didn't want her daughter going into shock. When she'd asked for advice from the other women of the village on the situation, Adelheid Prenderghast had risen to the occasion, and Cecily was inclined to follow her advice, as she seemed to have more experience with the topic than most.

"…and so they tried to plug the Earthen Hole, you see, because they couldn't retrieve those who had already fallen in, but they wanted to stop it somehow. But the King of the Snamuh saw that the attempt was a failure, and all over the city, randomly, the young, the old, the rich and the poor were being snapped up mysteriously, no matter where they were, and falling down the Earthen Hole."

Cecily paused, waiting for her daughter to ask a question or make a comment like she usually did. She didn't, and the mother gave a tight smile and her daughter's quiet disposition, pulling the quilt a little closer to her daughter's chin. Yes, their child was far smarter than her husband wanted—she probably already realized the true nature of the story. "The King finally sighed in defeat, and ordered the people to prepare to move far away. They could no longer stay, with the Earthen Hole swallowing his people at random. But no matter where they ventured, the Earthen Hole followed them, snapping up a few more people each time. And it follows them to this day, wherever the people of Snamuh go—they are all destined to eventually fall into the Earthen Hole."

Cecily stood up, pushed her sitting stool over to the far wall of the nursery, and went over to the bed again to kiss her daughter goodnight.

"What happened to them down there?"

The mother paused. "Down the Earthen Hole?"

"Yes." Demanding in tone but not in word. She was indeed her father's daughter.

Cecily considered her response. "No one knows. Nobody's ever come out. Some say they can hear voices from the bottom, but most think they're crazy for trying to get so close."

"That's stupid." Her daughter spoke with no hesitation at all. "If people want to know, they should either take the chance for answers they were given or find out on their own."

Cecily sighed. "It's not as simple as that. It was believed to be too dangerous to approach; people considered it taboo."

"Why? Shouldn't that be a personal decision?" Arguing like her father, too. One of these days Cecily was going to show him how much Julia was learning just from his big mouth. "Even if it's a stupid decision, it's still theirs."

Well that was a creepy line of thought for a child to have. She wondered how much the child truly understood of what she was saying.

Cecily picked up the candle from her daughter's bedside table, walking towards the entrance to the hall. She paused in the doorway. "I suppose it's because their families would miss them, no matter how stupid they are."

Julia didn't reply that time, and then Cecily left, and she was alone in the room.

Cecily never knew exactly how long that story would stay with her child.

* * *

_AN: Well this is an interesting conversation to have with your child before bedtime. But considering the first thing Puritans taught their children was that the human race was inherently sinful and that they had no right to exist so __**pray for mercy**__, I think this kind of thing is right up their alley. (No, seriously—one of the first things pilgrim children learned to read was a nursery rhyme about Adam and Eve, ending with a line about how all of them are the results of sin, that their very existence is wrong. Therefore, they need to make it up to god by being a good little devout protestants! :D Reading old Puritan Hornbooks and Primers is disturbing—no wonder their society was so messed up; they psychologically broke their children every chance they got)._

_If you haven't figured it out yet, this little story was an allegory about death, mainly, but also has other themes that are… foretelling. Multiple ones. I'm not really going to set any more stuks at this time in Julia's life, but the context of this is that Julia's grandfather, Isaac Hopkins, is dying (essentially from old age), and Cecily is trying to prepare Julia mentally. Of course, Julia, being scarily like her father at times, sees right through this. _

_And again, this acts as foreshadowing for… a lot of things. And reveals that Julia was not the first Hopkins to have good relations with the Prenderghast family—Cecily was particularly friendly and sympathetic with Aggie's grandmother, Adelheid, whom she saw as wise._

From this point onward until the half-point, we will be focusing far more on Aggie and the Colonial Prenderghasts: Adelheid Prenderghast, Manon "Mary" Prenderghast, Samuel Prenderghast, and their three children.

**Next Time, an Update in Act 3: A return to the Conway House—from Norman's memories!**


	7. Stuk 5: The Horse's Mouth

_This story seems much more popular than its partner… oh well. I can see why, though; the intrigue of the past of the Prenderghasts is the reason this story exists after all XD._

* * *

Prenderghast Puzzle

Stuk 5: The Horse's Mouth

April 21st, 1712

Julia had never known her father to be an understanding man. Compassionate, yes, forgiving, sometimes—but rarely did he show any signs of realizing he was wrong. Well, accept to her mother.

She had expected him to yell, like he did down on the green when breaking up the fight between the Blacktons and the sailors. She expected him to be raging, angry—and he was, for a while. Quiet, but raging. He had grabbed Aggie by the arm and practically threw her through the garden gate, and then turned around and grabbed her in much the same manner. Miss Sarah received them at the door, leading Julia up to her room and staying with her the entire night to care for her and watch for symptoms of a concussion.

And her father had come in right around moonrise, when the rest of the sky was dark with impish stars, and began questioning her. He attempted to loom over her at his full height, and though he limped slightly on his right leg and couldn't stand up straight, the impression it made on a child stuck in bed was still plenty intimidating. What started with 'why was she here' ("To bring herbs") delved into more complex questions about exactly how long we had known each other ("A little over a week") and how much Aggie knew ("Nothing… not about that, at least"). And then he had started talking to Miss Sarah, asking her what she had noticed, and Julia had faded out.

The biggest surprise came at breakfast next morning.

"You'll be heading over to Goodie Prenderghast's today, after lunch," her father said, attempting to sound casual as he lifted his tin tanker and sipped at his cider. He seemed to be ignoring the fact that she had broken propriety and dropped her own cup to the table out of shock. "She's offered to give you some direction in your studies with needlepoint, as Madame Sharpe has informed us you are sorely lacking."

It was the one single time in the history of existence that she had ever and would ever feel grateful to Miss Sharpe.

"_Really_, Father?" Julia asked, sounding less appreciative than she would have liked out of sheer disbelief.

"Such a peculiar reaction—do you not wish to go?"

"No, no, it's just—_now_ you're letting me out? Why _now?_"

Her father gave her a _look_, the same look he'd often given Abigale whenever she'd stacked up her close stool against the door so as to reach the knob and break out of her room, and then—"Do not look a gift horse in the mouth, child. Do as you're told. I expect to hear exemplary things about you from Goodie Prenderghast—Madame Sharpe, in particular, has asked to inspect your work when you're finished."

Well, that certainly lessened the gratefulness then, Miss Sharpe.

Pondering this strange, alien turn of events, Julia had been excused from the table, and as soon as the dining room door was closed, Judge Hopkins called Miss Sarah into the room.

"You're sure," he muttered quietly, as if suspecting Julia was listening through the cracks in the door jambs, "that they were quite amicable?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, clearing away the dishes in front of him. "I shouldn't think Agatha would tell anyone, sir."

The Judge sighed, slouching in his chair as he thought with his elbow on the table and his head in his hand, unknowingly mirroring a gesture Julia had made a thousand times before. "I can't keep her in a box forever. The Prenderghasts are hardly in any position to throw accusations around anyways. They can't afford attention. They'll keep quiet," he muttered, as if trying to reassure himself, "for their own sakes, if nothing else."*

* * *

Daylight, and a hundred thousand shades of bright green and clean sun. She'd never seen so many trees, so many wild flowers, so many different textures in the grass.

She'd never known this road existed, nor these crop rows. She couldn't see them from any of her house's windows. There were houses lining the dirt strip she walked on, far smaller than her own but with yards filled with people and animals. Julia saw the constable, Lemuel Spalding, talking aggressively with a man pitching hay into a chicken coop. William London, her father's assistant in documenting legal transactions and court records, was standing on Constable Spalding's right, scribbling on a piece of parchment while nodding ever so often whenever Spalding paused to take a breath.

In the yard next to them was the milkwoman Julia saw sometimes in the kitchen and her daughter, Constance, who was undeniably pretty and (according to Judge Hopkins) had been the subject of dispute between more than one man wishing for her hand in marriage. Thaddeus Blackton, a thirty-some year old man Julia's father often complained about behind closed doors, was standing nearby, leaning on a fence post and currently being smacked with a wooden spoon by Goodie Temper for "eyeing her daughter's ample rear." (Julia went scarlet when she heard this, and vowed not to complain about wearing a veil for the rest of the day).

Across the street was a slightly disheveled woman with a tankard tied to waist with a rope. She was leading an older woman—Widow Holbrook, Julia realized—by the arm across the threshold into the nearest house, and the old woman seemed to have trouble walking. People gave them a silent, wide berth while they were in the street; catcalls, however, were being shouted around from the other houses now that the two women were inside about how "good little Goodie Knotham" should just "drop the dead weight."

A farmer with a brand-new, empty cart was also given this treatment, though to a less extent, and while Thaddeus Blackton was throwing around comments about the farmer's wife (for some strange reason), some people still called and bid hello to "Farmer Niles."

(Ah—that explained it. Goodie Niles had been the first to escape the Gaol and run for it).

Julia noticed a few women, hanging laundry, stared as Julia herself passed—though sadly, not as many as should have. It was the spring after an autumn and winter of hardship; it probably was no longer considered unusual to see women in black and veil walking around.

It was hot in her black clothes and veil, but it was freedom, and Julia would admit that it was even worth being escorted by Miss Sharpe (who kept her primly condescending gaze upon Julia while fussing with the girl's veil ever so often to make sure it was on properly) though she'd never, ever admit it.

They had taken the road at the north end of the green, and took a left a quarter mile down, separating them from the row of houses and small farms and directing them into an open area of fields. At the crest of the hill—and the end of that particular branch of the path—was a farmhouse.

It was larger than the houses on the main path, but still smaller than her own stone dwelling flanking the green.

Most noticeable was its location, as it was surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of different plants of all different colors; Julia recognized periwinkle, blood root, juniper, myrrh just within the closest reaches to her, and many others that looked bizarrely foreign. Some had prickles like pinecones, others looked like they had hundreds of sewing needles jabbing out from all directions.

The house itself was grey and covered with shingles and ivy, and standing at the front of it was Agatha. As they approached, the younger girl ran to hug her friend and worry over how her head was from yesterday, earning Julia's gratitude and Miss Sharpe's unending ire at her impropriety.

Behind Agatha was a tall, thin woman.

Julia could see what Miss Sarah had meant by calling Goodie Prenderghast a "tough woman." She was thin, yes, but she walked in such a way that she seemed to take up all the space in the room. Her stride communicated pride and determination, and Julia felt that Goodie Prenderghast could probably be as intimidating as her own father—if she ever wished to.

But the woman smiled at her, a relieved and welcoming sort of smile, and it occurred to Julia that she may not have been the only child to grow up in seclusion, nor was she the only child whose mother fought so hard to help her daughter escape that seclusion.

It was a smile that hurt Julia to her very core, and yet with it, she felt that she had finally come home again.

* * *

_AN: *whistles* There's a lot going on in this chapter, isn't there? __For such a small amount of dialogue. _And who besides me finds it funny that Judge Hopkins is such a gossip behind closed doors? 

_Next we'll be entering the Prenderghast household and meeting the Prenderghasts of 1712 formally—which is pretty much one of the main reasons why I wrote this story. Also, here's something interesting: __**every key person involved with Agatha Prenderghast's trial has appeared in this story already. Cheers to who can point them out!**_

_*This isn't the threat it sounds like, I assure you. It's just Judge Hopkins stating a tactical advantage. The Prenderghasts are Dutchmen in a British colony—they're hardly trusted, although many of the village have grown to trust Goodie Prenderghast enough to trade for homemade medicines. What with Agatha's strange behavior, the Prenderghasts can't afford to jump into the accusation game and say anything bad against the Hopkins family even if they wanted to (which they don't)—they'd immediately be met with distrust in return, since their daughter acts far stranger than Julia. This means that Judge Hopkins feels he can trust Julia in their hands, as they have no way to use any of Julia's flaws against her. _

_**Historical Notes & Extras** (yes, this segment still exists XD):_

_Building the Rooms: The Prenderghast Household (1702-1837)_

_The Prenderghast House was much more modest and simple than the Hopkins House, a typical Puritan Three-Quarter house. Puritan houses were usually built with the expectation of adding on, and thus small houses were considered unfinished (a basic house was a "Half-House," a large house a "Full"). As the Prenderghasts have only been in the New World for eleven years, there's has not yet reached the stage of a "Full House."_

_A typical household with a hipped roof, the Prenderghast's home had six rooms and was surrounded by an herb garden tended to by Manon, Agatha, and later Priscilla, and used to produce ingredients for Manon's home-made medicines as well as food for the family. The Prenderghast family, in accordance with the agreement made in the summer of 1713, was allowed to keep the property well after the town and property ownership became official. The original house was demolished in 1837 and replaced with a larger one of simplified Victorian design, which has remained on the property ever since. The historical Blithe Cemetery, which originally had been planned and plotted a half mile North of the house, gradually expanded in size until it reached the edge of the house's legal boundaries. The old Victorian is currently in dilapidated condition, and the decision to demolish it is being met with aggressive opposition by a historical preservation movement spearheaded by Salma Ramsay. The New Blithe Hollow Historical Preservation Society, as she insists it to be called (she reviles any connection with the old one, which she considers 'an attention-seeking tourist-mongering failure'), has set its goals as 'preserving any and all remaining evidence to the truth of the Blithe Hollow Witch Trials.' Her friend Norman, the youngest current surviving descendant of the Prenderghast bloodline, seems to be having trouble stopping her from trying to preserve him, too._

_The house consisted of:_

_Kitchen/Family Room—all cooking, baking, making, sewing, and eating took place in this room. Pantry off the Kitchen._

_Borning Room/Sick Room—Manon often had patients who refused to pay exuberant amounts for a 'learned' doctor, and so this room was set aside for the ill and wounded._

_Father, Mother and Priscilla's Room_

_Kenneth's Room_

_Aggie and Grandma Adelheid's Room (Formerly the Hall, or Living Room)_

**Next Time: an update on Act 3, in which Coraline goes searching for notes, and meets up with two very disagreeable women!**


	8. Stuk 6: A Bird in the Hand

_Thanks to those who reviewed, favorite'd and followed. You made me smile so much I scared my sister._

* * *

Prenderghast Puzzle

Stuk 6: A Bird in the Hand

April 21st, 1712

"No, no," said Goodie Prenderghast for what felt like the thousandth time. "_Under_ the cloth, not over. The stitch is supposed to be hidden—if you're not good at even stitching, a beginner's trick is to make them difficult to find. Like this."

The woman pulled up a crude stool next to where Julia sat on a rocking chair, took the thing that was supposed to be a new apron from her, and slowly stitched up the inside folds of both fabrics.

Julia groaned. "This is getting ridiculous. I can mimic the finest of calligraphies with an ordinary hand-pen, but I can't measure up the nimbleness of hand to stitch?"

Through the door to the kitchen, she could have sworn she heard snickering.

"Thou shouldst _talk_, dearest Agatha," Julia called, over-formalizing and raising her voice so that it carried into the kitchen. "Enjoyed _blueberries_ recently?"

The giggling continued and grew closer—however, when the culprit's head popped around the doorframe to peer at Julia, it was not Aggie.

Priscilla, a five year old with deep-set brown eyes, usually had very handsome hair. It was dark, like her older sister's, but wavy and framed her face in a surprisingly pretty way. However, that was not the case today—it was instead tied up in a crudely-fashioned bun, which had hair sticking out everywhere, not that she seemed to notice.

Julia had only met the family a few hours ago, but even she knew Goodie Prenderghast wasn't _that_ bad with hair.

"Priscilla," Julia said, looking away from where Goodie Prenderghast was fixing her horrible stitchwork, "have you been trying to do your own hair?"

The girl giggled again, and ran into the room, forcing herself next to Julia on the rocking chair—making the amount of space each of them had rather limited.

"Nope!" The girl cheerfully replied. "Aggie did it!"

Oh, this was _brilliant_. Julia may have been bad at stitching, but it was nowhere near as bad as Aggie's atrocious excuse for hair care.

"Well, Priscilla, it appears your hair has gotten a bit mussed up. Would you mind if I fixed it?"

The girl pouted. "Does that mean I'll have to sit still again?"

Julia smiled. "Only for a little bit. I'm much faster than your sister at this, I promise."

The tiny girl scrunched up her face for a few seconds before nodding. Priscilla leaped off the rocking chair and rocketed down the hallway, shouting loudly about retrieving her hairbrush.

"Well," sighed Goodie Prenderghast, a bit of her own mousy brown hair bun coming undone from the day's stress, "I'd accuse you of looking for an excuse to stop, but I think it's time to be finished anyways." She glanced out the diamond paned window at the late afternoon sun. "Sam and Kenny should be home soon from the shipyard. Would you like to sup with us?"

Julia looked back at her. "Would that be allowed?"

Goodie Prenderghast shrugged. "Well, why not? No point in stressing out old Margaret if you can eat here."

Margaret was Cook's Christian name, though very few people used it.

"Is Aggie still in the kitchen cooking? Does she need help?" Julia asked.

Goodie Prenderghast gave her a look. "Would you be any help if she did?"

"I'd try."

The woman smiled. "Then you can always learn."

* * *

"Sam" and "Kenny" returned to the little house on the hill just as the sun began to kiss the ocean. If they were at all surprised about having dinner with a cloaked and veiled little waif of a girl, they didn't show it.

Samuel, Julia knew, worked as the harbormaster down at the docks. Amelia Wilcott, after all, was perfectly happy to complain the day away about the unfair advantages of having the man in charge of the town's trade as your husband, and as Julia and Cook never seemed to barricade the kitchen well enough to keep her out (and they'd tried; truly, they'd tried), they heard every word if it.

What Julia didn't know was that his son worked there as well, repairing ships and organizing cargo loads. And also, if he had the time, mooning over Constance Temper—well, if Aggie was to be believed.

"Agatha," Kenny hissed at her from across the table, _"Stop it."_

"Pass the butter, please," Goodie Prenderghast asked Julia.

"There's no point in hiding it," Aggie teased, "Hestus told me all about it. Apparently you went to the Tempers' house with flowers? It was hilarious; Hestus was so confused—he thought you were trying to give them to _Goodie_ Temper."

"_Agatha!"_ Kenny hissed, sending a flick of the eyes in Julia's direction.

"Oh, she knows," Aggie went on happily, "She just doesn't care. So _you_ can't get out of this—"

"Moerder, can I have some more stew?"

"Priscilla, dear, of cou—"

"That has nothing to _do_ with this; I just don't appreciate my personal life being the preferred topic of the social hour!"

"Mention it to Goodie Knotham, and it'll be more than just an hour."

"Betle's ship wrecked off the cape," Samuel said, beginning his own conversation with his wife, "I've sent a messenger to Barnstable to see what can be salvaged; I've given him instructions to travel northwards if necessary. There's a little settlement north of Barnstable* much closer to the reported wreck I think would be convenient for the salvaging process."

"Moerder," Priscilla called, "_Moerder!"_

"Yes, darling?"

It was insanity. It was absolute, incomprehensible insanity. Julia had no idea how any of them followed any of this.

She gave it her best shot. "If we're still talking about Constance Temper, I saw her in her yard today on the way here. Her mother was beating Farmer Blackton with a spoon for making lewd comments about her daughter."

Kenny's face went dark. "He does that to every woman. I'm honestly surprised he's been able to keep a wife—or his life, for that matter. On most occasions the wife's relatives would challenge him to a match for such an insult; it's a wonder nobody's done it yet."

"Priscilla, it's your turn to clean the dishes after dinner."

"Moerder, moerder, can I show Julia our book collection after supper?"

It was insanity, yes, but the kind of insanity she wished she and her family could have had a chance to understand a little better.

* * *

After supper, Aggie dragged Julia to a bookshelf in her mother's room.

"Look," she said, and pointed at all the different topics. As she knew Julia liked gardening, she picked out one on herbs. "Moerder's written notes all over these; she uses them to make remedies for the villagers. Most people don't ask the doctor for a house call, so Moerder picks up where he can't." She said all of this—especially that last bit—very proudly.

"Why does no one ask the doctor for a house call?" her friend asked. Admittedly, Julia almost never saw a doctor despite her many past illnesses, but when she truly needed one her father always made sure one was there.

"Because Moerder's much more trustworthy than some doctor, and Doctor Gosnold is a _pence-stealing varlot!_"

Julia dryly quirked an eyebrow in question, a habit she had unknowingly procured from her father. "And who exactly did you hear that from?"

"…Goodie Knotham."

There was silence for a moment, before the two of them erupted in giggles. "Oh Aggie, even _I_ know not to quote her _ad verbatim_."

"I don't believe you've ever spoken to her in person, so you're quite unable to do that besides. However…"

Julia could recognize that look. Not from Aggie - it was usually on Cook, actually - but still. "_Aggie…_"

"Come now, you're finally out of the house. I'm sure she'd like to meet you—she's probably heard all about you from Miss Warin."

"It's Goodie Knotham that's the gossiper, not Miss Sarah."

"She's not that bad, I think—"

"Ah, I leave you two alone for a second and the world dissolves into chaos." Goodie Prenderghast had entered the room, carrying a jar of what looked like sage leaves. She put the jar down on the bed footer and gave them a long, wry look. "No, not really that surprised."

Julia glanced at the book, then back at Goodie Prenderghast. "Ma'am, I couldn't help but notice you had many plants around your house that I've never seen before."

"So that's what you were talking about? I was sure I could hear a few bitty ones carping about a good friend of mine."

Aggie and Julia had the good manners to at least look ashamed.

"And you're interested in plants, are you?" The woman smiled at Julia. "What a strange child you are—most girls of your birth couldn't care less about such dirty work. Have you any experience?"

"I'm a much better hand in herb-rearing than I am at the needlepoint."

"I'll say," Aggie mumbled, eyes wandering over to the half-stitched, half-knotted apron her mother had deposited onto the top of her bureau.

"Well then, I can also teach you about herbs, if you so desire. I could use another hand in the making. Priscilla's still a bitty one, and Agatha's no help."

"Moerder!"

"Hush yourself, child," Goodie Prenderghast said, chuckling to her eldest daughter, "denial helps no one."

A knock was heard from the other room, and Goodie Prenderghast sighed with weary content. "I'd as soon as bet that's your escort, dear—best hide that apron and pretend it got lost."

Julia beamed at her.

* * *

The walk home was strange, and not nearly as dark as it should have been. Under her skin, Julia felt her heartbeat—more powerful and lively than ever before. Her skin, her eyes, her tongue, no longer were they a container for herself; now they were lively lamps of visual points, ports in which the vast world could bring information in and out. The world was at her fingertips, the universe at her eyes, and with the promise of another visit tomorrow, she felt more free than she had in living memory.

The village seemed to match her vivaciousness. Instead of sleeping, many men and a few women were up and about, dashing from house to house and calling things between them. Was that normal? She'd never been about the village at night—or ever, really—but she could see the sky from her window, and the night was rarely so well-lit. Miss Sharpe, however, would not allow dawdling, and so Julia could not enquire as to what was going on.

Her tutor escorted her back to her front door and knocked thrice precisely, then turned and excused herself, claiming she had to leave suddenly as Giles Abery had requested "French lessons." Snorting to herself, Julia entered the house on her own, to find the interior, like the rest of the village, in utter chaos.

"Sarah, where's my collar?" her father's voice called, and he came thumping down the stairs in a rush, nearly tripping over his bad leg.

Julia blinked, astonished. Her father was only dressed in his breeches, undershirt and jerkin—his falling-band collar, red cravat and black cape were missing, and he only had one shoe on, the other in his hand.

"Ah, Julia," her father said, taking notice of her while struggling with putting on his remaining shoe. "You're home—good. It's not safe out there; I've got to get out there before they raze the whole green to the ground. Sarah!"

"I'm sorry, sir!" came Miss Sarah's voice from the garden where the clothes line was, and she came into view in the back doorway. "All your collars are either wet or dirty—I was just washing them!"

"I'll wear an old one, then, girl, nobody will notice; it's black as pitch out there!" He scolded. "Hurry!"

Miss Sarah nodded and fled to the clothes line just as Cook came around the corner from the dining room.

""What would you like me to do with your food then, sir?"

"Just, uh—Julia, have you eaten?"

"Yes, father."

"Give it out amongst the servants, then. The Lord gives us food as a gift of nourishment—it is a sin to waste. And where _is_ that blasted collar?"

"Here, sir!" Miss Sarah came running in, holding both his collar and cravat, and Julia's father about-faced to let her fascine them both around his neck. He turned around again to thank her, quickly, but instead had he something forced into his hands and was gently pushed towards the door.

"Your cane, sir," was all she said.

With a quick thanks given again over his shoulder, the old man sprang through the front entranceway and out into the night.

A brief, stunned, charged silence remained in the house after his departure. "What's going _on?_" Julia said, finally breaking the elongated pause.

"Petronel Mathingly's been brought before the court house steps," Miss Sarah replied, her eyes fixed out the door on the golden glow of firelight emanating from beyond the short tree line between them and the courthouse. "The farmers on the outskirts are demanding she be tried as a witch, and they marched right up the green—they've already hogtied her; I saw them pushing the cart. If the His Honour doesn't settle this in the court and quick, they're mad enough to set her alight."

Julia followed her gaze to the shadowed form of torchlight, and the ember-lit face of the night-enshrouded court house looming over them all above the trees.

It was not Judgement Day, but Judgement had begun.

* * *

_AN: I love me some crazy families. As the Prenderghasts and Hopkins are kind of like warped mirrors of each other—mother, father, adult brother, child sister, baby daughter—it's always interesting to write their interactions. _

_*The "little settlement north of Barnstable" is an unincorporated area settled very early in the 18__th__ century and becomes Providencetown in 1727 (much to the disapproval of the residents; they wanted to name it "Herrington."_

_I put this information in Act 3, but I think it some of it also fits here. I put it the information on the Prenderghast household here, after all, so I guess it's best to do the same with the Hopkins House._

_*The Hopkins House: The Hopkins' family residence (referred to as simply "The Hopkins House" by history tours in Blithe Hollow) was the only building in town made of stone at the time of the Witch Hysteria. The Honorable Judge Jonathan Hopkins had it built in 1692 for his wife, Cecily, who was noted to have a great fear of fire. Despite being built deliberately to weather flames, the original house burned down in 1736 by uncaught arsonists (an embittered Julia congratulated them in her journals). The remains were left untouched until 1807, when the land was purchased by budding cobbler and future industrialist Robert McLaney and the stone shell torn down in favor of building a small shoe store and later factory which closed its doors in 1879. In 1942, Lena Belfry, a representative of the local Blithe Hollow Historical Preservation Society, started a campaign to rebuild the house using the floor plan specified in the legal documents found in the old court house (later used and immortalized as the Historical Town Hall). Ironically, this action of historical preservation (which rather failed, as the resulting house looked nothing like the original) kicked off the tourist craze, which desecrated the public's view of the Witch Trials, especially since The Wizard of Oz had come out in theaters only three years earlier._

_The Hopkins family was rather opulent by Puritan standards due to money on both the paternal and maternal sides of the family, the latter of which died long before the turn of the 17th century and was survived only by Cecily, Julia's mother. Architecture-wise and out of story context, the Hopkins House is roughly based off of the Spencer-Peirce-Little House in Newbury, Massachusetts, built in 1690. The Hopkins House, however, is much smaller, as Judge Hopkins was a much more modest (and boring) man. Nevertheless, the original house had many rooms, including a kitchen, a dining room, a small library, a nursery, the servants' quarters, the Master's chambers, the Mistress' bedroom, and two other bedrooms for Ezekiel and Julia. After Abigail and Ezekiel died, the nursery was converted into a storage area, with the young master's chamber converted into the Judge's study._

I skipped updating Act 3 (my bad) because I had a better idea of how to write this chapter; **Act 3 will be updated next.**


	9. Stuk 7: Down Like a Lead Balloon

_Thanks to _Lord Candycane_ for reviewing. Yes, it has been a terrible night for Petronel Mathingly. However, now's not the time for tragedy yet—Blithe Hollow's only famous for _one_ execution, after all._

* * *

Stuk 7: Down Like a Lead Balloon

April 22nd,1712

Julia awoke to a loud clumping sound, and her door creaking open. Her body jerked out of bed lightning-fast as she supported her lifted torso with her arms, sitting up and adjusting herself accordingly.

(She wasn't sure how she'd fallen asleep—she was never quite sure how she fell asleep on nights like this. She guessed, however, that Miss Sarah—the woman who seemed to think of her as a little sister—had brought her up and put her to bed. Miss Sarah was surprisingly strong).

Her father stood in the doorway, still in formal court attire. "Get dressed," he said, gesturing to her night gown "quickly. Mathingly's escaped the Gaol, and they're not too happy about another one running off. Spalding and Hardwick have organized a search party; they're starting with the buildings closest to the Gaol."

"_What?_" Julia cried, and she struggled with her blankets in an attempt to rush out of bed. "They're searching our house? For what reason?"

Her father sighed quietly. "They have to make sure criminals can't escape their punishment, Julia."

"Criminal! She hasn't been convicted, has she?" They hadn't had the trial _last night,_ had they? Those usually were planned days in advance—many people thought of them as spectacles, and placed sick little paper advertisements for the trials on pickets all over town.*

"They were quite prepared to have the trial right then and there, actually," her father said, using the back of the sick chair next to her bed as a replacement support for his cane. "But the Mathinglies protested, saying it was unjust movement under the laws dictated by Her Majesty.* Which just makes their situation worse, as everyone's suspecting them of using the delay to break her out now."

Julia knew what wasn't being said. Now that the grace period between accusation and trial had been abused, it was unlikely the villagers would tolerate giving such a blessing anymore. And, probably, a lot of people were going to wind up with rushed trials.

Her father saw her getting out of bed and reminded her to hurry before leaving to allow her privacy.

She didn't have time to wash, so she put on her black shift, stay*, petticoats, skirts, coif and veil in a hurry, rushing with the bun to keep her hair up. She practically flew down the stairs to the entrance, where the servants were waiting for the constable and his men.

"Where's Father?" She asked Cook as the woman pressed a bowl of porridge into her hands.

"He's out with Constable Spalding, dearie—half the men are checking the woods, the rest are checking the Archives. Once they're done, we're next on their list."

Julia nearly bit down on her spoon in disgust—whether it was from the cold, quickly prepared porridge or her reaction to the search was debatable. "Why do they even want this Petronel Mathingly, if they think she's a witch? Surely they'd assume it is better she's gone."

"Oh, they don't know that, and that's the problem," Cook looked like she was having a hard time standing at attention near the doorway. She was always in the kitchen multi-tasking—stillness was abnormal there, especially tense ones. "If she is a witch, she could be living out in the forest, or after a new town. They're slippery creatures, witches."

Julia glanced at the group of them—Miss Sarah looked relatively composed, while Cook looked exhausted and twitchy. Behind her were the other two maids, Miss Prudence and Miss Harriett, who worked exclusively as cleaning maids and thus rarely conversed with her, and the unfortunately named yard hand Willoughby Garfield, whom all looked faint. She studied the yard hand—other than rare occasions of chancing across him while in the garden, she never saw him, but she'd heard from Miss Wilcott that he was insufferable (though then again, so was she).

The front bell rang just after nine, and Miss Sarah went to answer it, muttering about how if people were going to invade their homes, they could at least be punctual about it.

Unfortunately, it looked like Constable Spalding heard her, because she opened the door to a piercing glare.

Constable Spalding was an incredibly tall, bulky man in black breeches and doublet. Large and muscular, the intimidation, however, was lessened by the fact that he wore a belt buckle on his pointy felt hat, which no one else did because it looked ridiculous (well, no one else but the notary, but everyone knew William London admired the Constable a little too much).*

Julia stepped into view of the threshold, curtseying gracefully, and the constable nodded back in acknowledgement, a hint of a fond smile on his face. "Will you be requiring a guide through the house, good Constable, or will you be searching free-roam?"

"I shall require no assistance, thank you," said the hulking man. "But if you could allow a few of the men to partake in some water, lass, it would be much appreciated. We have been up since three to sunrise, attempting to capture this wretched harlot, and many of them have been without rest for longer than that."

Julia, with all the grace of a well-reared gentlewoman, smiled and curtsied again before addressing Cook, who hurried those who desired beverage through the door to the kitchen. "Water?" She questioned, outraged, "Come on, lads, tis not some no-name charity service. I work hard in this kitchen—_somebody_ better drink my coffee!"

Miss Sarah, ever the willing kitchen assistant, trailed after Cook and the men while attempting to smother her giggles.

"If I am not needed in this hunt, good Constable," Julia said once the door was closed and the hallway had quieted down again, "I think it best for me to remain out of the way. I shall retire to the drawing room until your search is complete." Julia gestured to a room two doors down the hall.

He nodded again, and he and his men (halved by then) began their search.

* * *

Julia was uncomfortably languishing on an old bannister chair and halfway through _Voyages de la Nouvelle France _when she realized Aggie was reading over her shoulder.

"_Holy—" _Julia toppled off of her chair.

"You can read that?" Aggie asked almost to herself, picking up the French book and flipping through the pages. Louder, she said, "So they're searching your place too, huh? Father Hardwick's led the second half of the search party out of the woods and back into the village—they started with our house."

"How'd it go?" Julia asked, concerned. Not because she thought the Prenderghasts were hiding fugitive innocents, but because all of the Prenderghasts were well known for keeping items that constantly toed the line of what Father Hardwick allowed. Julia glanced at the front door, where one of the Constable's men stood posted. "And how'd you get in here?"

Aggie shrugged nonchalantly. "The most they found was Moerder's collection of Greek fables, so they couldn't do much. Hardwick tried to put up a fuss about the Celtic patterns on the covers, though." She huffed. "Said they looked 'witchy.' Moerder tossed a few of his guards right out on their rears, saying that they had no proper right to be looking through her bookshelf when seeking a run-off."

Julia smiled wryly. "You still didn't explain how you got in here."

"How else? Through your garden gate. There's nobody at the back door."

Julia sighed. "Just don't get Constable Spalding angry if he sees you."

"The constable's here? Why is the constable himself searching the judge's house?"

Julia's eyes narrowed. "Supposedly, as one of the houses closest to court and gaol, it's likely our runaway accusee has stashed herself someone nearby."

"At the _Judge's_ house? She'd have to be mad; if she were caught, running away makes her twice as guilty."

"Quite. And all her family are fishermen; it's not hard to imagine she fled to sea. I'm fairly sure my father knows this."

There was a lull in their conversation, before Aggie asked, "Then why are they searching? And for so long upstairs?"

"They're searching for signs of enchantment," Julia said plainly. At Aggie's incredulous stare, she continued: "What? As the legalmen of the village, the Hopkins family is a rather conspicuous target. And after what happened last fall…" Julia sighed. "They think they're protecting us. They're all good friends of my father's, and he's lost three already. Our bedrooms are upstairs; they're probably searching those top to bottom. It would be cruel to rebuke them for caring."

Aggie hmm'ed to herself. "That's nice, I guess. Wish they didn't harass some to protect some, though."

"It's their way. I'm fairly certain our Constable Spalding could recite _A Modern Enquiry into the Nature of Witchcraft _from beginning to end—and even the postscript."

"I'm not _that_ good, lass," came a masculine voice from the doorway.

Both girls turned to look at the man, and Julia stood from her chair and curtsied again. "Good morning again, Constable. I trust your search went well?"

"Hardly morning now, lass. And now, we didn't find anything, but that's all the better for it." He entered the room and smiled down at her—his gaze was a little lower than it should have been, but she forgave him for that, as it was rather difficult to tell where the eyes were when one wore a veil. "I hope our good Father Hardwick had more blessings, though; Worthingale's group has already come back with nothing."

"As a matter of fact, dear constable, Agatha here saw them on their search," Julia gestured to her friend.

Aggie, startled at being brought into the conversation*, shyly fumbled with her words. "Um, yes…" She looked down hesitantly until Julia elbowed her. "Uh! Um, Father Hardwick has finished with the woods, brother Constable." She spoke like she was in poise lessons with Miss Sharpe. "As far as I could discern, their search was unfruitful."

"Ah, you're the Prenderghast girl, aren't you?" Constable Spalding shook his head fondly. "I hope Eben didn't give your mother too hard a time; he's quite hard-headed when it comes to the witchy."

"Honestly, brother Constable," replied Aggie meekly, "I think it was the other way around."

To the surprise of Aggie and the amusement of Julia, Constable Lemuel Spalding laughed.

And when Judge Hopkins returned from his assistance with the other search parties, instead of the tense investigation he intended to put to a stop, he found the constable, some of the constable's men, the harbormaster's daughter, and Julia in the dining room, all having luncheon.

Julia even had the gall to reprimand him for being late.

* * *

_AN: I realize this might seem too… pleasant, after the end of last chapter, but, propriety being what it is, one must treat one's guests with honor. Richer individuals had this as a left over habit of classical society, where how you were seen by others was measured by the treatment of one's guests and neighbors, and though Puritans believed in simplicity, they still had their manners. Since the search had lasted until the afternoon, it was only good manners to host luncheon for them all (especially since, though none of them would admit it, they were only spending so much time searching because they wanted to keep Julia and the Judge safe). And, as the owner of the house, Judge Hopkins technically should have presided as host, not Julia, which is why Julia scolds him._

_*Yep. They totally advertised the thing. _

_*ParaNorman was actually waaaaaaay off in some historical details—alarming, considering they're _not_ small mistakes. Doubly alarming as they had that essay from Salma _discussing_ the historical context of the trial in the back of the book._

_One of the biggest is when Judge Hopkins condemns Agatha Prenderghast in the name of "Our Sovereign, King James" (in the movie, it's just "His Majesty"). Except the closest King James to ParaNorman's puritan timeline is King James the Second (or Seventh, it really depends), who ended his rule in—wait for it—_1688!_ A whole three decades before Aggie's execution. The correct ruler of England at the time was **Her** Majesty Queen Anne, who ruled those thirty years James didn't and then some. You can find that just by googling 'Britain 1712' and checking _Wikipedia. _Talk about a fact check failure. _

_On the other hand, they did get some things right—they totally did post ads about trials, there's one even printed in the ParaNorman book in the back. Though it's not Aggie's._

_*A "stay" is a bodice—it's the word they used pre-19__th__ century. Formalwear were "stays," informal styles (with little boning and more padding) were called "jumps."_

_*Aggie is surprised to be brought into the conversation because a strict conversation code was in place at the time. In formal conversation—as is going on here between Julia and the constable—children may only speak when acknowledged by those already in the conversation. Aggie was surprised to be invited to speak._

_*I just had to make fun of the Notary and the Constable. Their outfits are the most anachronistic of the movie, looking more like Thanksgiving costumes than pilgrim clothes. Nobody wore those stupid buckles—not on their shoes _or_ their hats (though they did wear them on belts)._


	10. Stuk 8: Toss-Up

_Sincere apologies for the delay; we just took a long vacation to a place with no internet and only got back yesterday. _

_I'm not quite sure how this chapter will go down, it seems a bit dull and rushed to me. I'm going to re-read my research and overarching background on the Prenderghast family before writing the next chapter, as it will involve quite a lot about them and their family history. _

* * *

Stuk 8: Toss-Up

After the constable's reception in the Hopkins Household, Julia's father seemed to warm to the idea of Julia spending time about the village—as long as she maintained her veil and escort. Aggie and Julia had varying ideas over why this was; Aggie thought that it was because Julia had demonstrated she could interact graciously and responsibly with the rest of the village, while Julia thought it was because her father could no longer claim she was too sick to be seen by others, as others had indeed already seen her perfectly fit.

Whatever the reason, cynical or respectful in nature, Julia found herself being introduced publicly to a variety of places in the village. While she knew most of the people from seeing them go about the town from her window and matching faces to names provided by her father, she was now for the first time brought before the meetinghouse and introduced formally to her father's colleagues in legal work, as well as to the head of the local Smithy's Guild, a Mr. Lon Garrett, who had stopped in to work out the legalities of his shipping agreement down at port.

As far as Julia's father knew, she was still bound to her escort. However, on days when Madame Sharpe left her with the Prenderghasts to tend to her embroidery and the sky was not as damp as it usually was in Spring, Manon Prenderghast had the habit of letting her younger children roam the village, a right which now seemed to extend to Julia.

And Aggie wasted no time in showing her around, introducing her to the living as well as the dead as best she could. For Aggie's eleventh birthday—May 2nd—she had been granted a free day to do whatever she wished, and when Julia had arrived at the Prenderghast household expecting a friendly luncheon or a tea party, Aggie had whisked her away into the village to explore. With Aggie as acting guide over the first several days of freedom, they set a course down Meetinghouse Road and up Hadlock, then down by the miller's on the way to the harbor. Aggie told her this would maximize the amount of people she would meet; most residents of Blithe Hollow were farmers who lived some distance from the where the Hopkins lived at the village green, and so one had to go to the centers of commerce to meet them.

Julia was able to finally meet a number of people she had always heard about but never seen: close to the mill she and Aggie met up with the gossiping, passionate, but always sympathetic Goodie Anna Knotham, whom Julia noted carried an unseemly flask at her waist, always ready for a drink. Though they had never met personally, the woman acted as though she had known Julia all her life.

Upon her request, she and Aggie also visited Farmer Niles to express their sorrow and pay their respects; his wife too had fled the village upon the accusation of witchcraft, back when the Yellow Fever had just begun to take hold and before Abigail had fallen ill. He was surprisingly unenbittered, however, and told Julia to thank her father for him-Judge Hopkins had apparently tried to head the trial off from the start, but failed.

While walking on stretches of road with nothing on them, Aggie would make it her duty to entertain her friend. She told wondrous stories of ghostly Indian tribes in the forest and spectral sunken-face Englishmen walking the church grounds, and attempted to teach Julia a little of what she knew from them.

Sir Merith of Cambridge, for instance, often hung around the abandoned shell of the first town green on Old Meetinghouse Road. He was the founder of their own tiny village, who'd given it the ridiculous name of Blithe Hallow, though the latter had changed to Hollow sometime later. Unthinking blessing turned to empty thoughtlessness? Aggie had asked him why he picked the name one day when she was younger, back when she'd first found him hovering in a dark corner by the household of Mister Thaddeus Blackton, but he'd refused to do anything but stare at her with wide, disturbed eyes.

Hitting slightly closer to home, there was also the ghost of Judge Isaac Hopkins, Julia's grandfather and former town judge who died when she was small. According to Aggie he haunted the courthouse, unbeknownst to anyone there, and Aggie always avoided looking at him because he kept pointing and yelling that she was a witch, generally making a very big show of himself and Aggie to the other local spirits.

Aggie even managed to make Julia laugh when she described the fate of the former Reverend Ackner, predecessor of the current Reverend Hardwick, who couldn't depart for the afterlife somehow because he didn't believe in an Afterlife that included earth-bound ghosts—thereby making his own existence an impossibility.

Though they ranged from amusing to interesting, Julia quickly learned some of the secrets revealed by the ghosts were actually quite serious.

One day in early summer, passing by the meetinghouse, the girls found two slave women under Amelia Wilcott's supervision in the front gardens. Their supervisor in question was not actually doing her job; instead, she was standing with Reverend Eben Hardwick off to the side, mostly concealed by large bushes.

"I don't see why I shouldn't," was the first bit of conversation they heard. Aggie intended to keep walking, but Julia—used to eavesdropping from her years of isolation with little access to information—grabbed her hand and veered them off the road. Ducking their heads, the two hid on the other side of the large shrubbery, and Julia motioned with her hands for the slave women to keep silent.

"Her existence may be sinful, but her actions are not. What exactly has you so certain, child?" Reverend Hardwick's voice was clear and condescending—for such a weak-willed and snobbish man (or so her father would say), his voice was very cutting and worthy of a courtroom judge.

"There is some witchcraft amok in the Judge's house."

The girls' eyes widened and they glanced at each other. _My house?_ Julia mouthed to Aggie. In return, the younger girl just shrugged.

"That is a hefty accusation you make. Again, what exactly has you so certain?"

"The girl's out and about; it's obvious she's not quite as sickly as the Judge likes to imply. Why hide the child away when there seems nothing wrong?"

Julia shifted her coif further down her forehead nervously.

"And what are you implying this has to do with Sister Warin?"

"Of all the people near that girl, she's the most sinful of them all. There's clearly something unnatural going on, and she would know all about that. Helen Warin's spawn—"

_CRACK._

Julia glanced down at her hand, which had a broken stick beneath it, unable to stably support her leaning weight. This time Aggie grabbed her by the sleeve, dashing around the corner of the meetinghouse as the Reverend tried to peer over the tall hedges and shouted, "Who's there!?"

"Bit paranoid, isn't he?" Julia huffed as she ran, hiking her skirts up as she passed her house altogether and headed for the outskirts of town.

They slowed to a walk at the top of the road, some thirty yards away from Goodie Knotham's front gate, where she waved to them encouragingly.

"He has a right to be," Aggie muttered darkly.

"Greetings, girls!" Goodie Knotham called. "And what sent you two into such a gallop?"

Julia, still slightly bewildered from their dash and Aggie's current expression, replied, "Amelia Wilcott, ready and willing to start another witch hunt."

One could have heard the still wind. "You're _jesting._"

"Not at all."

Goodie Knotham whistled, reached down for her flask, but quickly removed her hand. "And who exactly is the woman spinning about today?"

"Julia," Aggie replied quietly, still gazing down the road from whence they came. "And her maid, Miss Sarah."

"Well, with Sarah Warin I'm not too surprised, but that's a first I've heard you in there, Miss Julia." Goodie Knotham said as she opened her gate and offered them a bench to sit on.

"Amelia Wilcott can think what she likes."

"Ahh, that'a girl." A strangely fond smile was the reply. "Won't take any intimidation. You honestly remind me of that Sarah, although I'm not sure what good it will do you in the long run."

"_Tante_ Anna," Aggie suddenly said, addressing Goodie Knotham, "She was deliberately targeting Reverend Hardwick."

The woman and child shared a significant glance.

Peering between the two, Julia judged their faces. The woman looked understanding, while Aggie looked quietly upset.

"What does Miss Wilcott have against Miss Sarah?" At their surprised glances, she huffed. "Oh, don't pretend you don't know."

"Miss Sarah is Reverend Hardwick's half-sister." Aggie said after a small pause. "They had different mothers. Sarah's mother often follows Reverend Hardwick around and shouts at him for treating her daughter so badly." At Goodie Knotham's startled look, Aggie awkwardly shrugged the silent concern away. "Julia already knows I see them."

"Miss Warin's father and mother weren't married," Goodie Knotham added, "so she was raised separately from her two brothers. The town doesn't much talk about it, but that alone gives Miss Wilcott plenty of reasons to hate Miss Warin."

Julia looked away and sank down further on the bench seat.

To accuse someone of a crime worthy of the death sentence based on a sin her parents committed? Surly Miss Wilcott wouldn't have expressed such strong suspicion based on just that. But then, why would she dislike Miss Sarah so much? As far as Julia knew, the two almost never talked, Miss Sarah preferring to remain quietly in the background whenever Cook and Miss Wilcott fought.

But then, how well did she really know them? In the past few weeks she'd learned more about the world than she ever had from her books, and though she knew very little about it still, this open world the village was in was also the world of Miss Sarah and Miss Wilcott. People didn't just disappear after leaving her house (which, as a small child, she had actually believed), they had lives outside of it, and though she had known this fact before she now understood they were far more complex than previously believed.

How far could plain, unprovable suspicion really drive people? How much evidence could fuel a witch trial—had fueled the previous witch trials?

Though she knew the laws of the land (she was the judge's daughter, after all), it seemed she didn't know the unwritten rules. This confused more than worried her—though it should have done the latter.

"Lass," came a voice, and stirred Julia out of her thoughts. She looked up to find Goodie Knotham standing over her. Though she smelled of drink, her smile was warm with a twinge of pity. "You need not worry about Miss Warin, dear. She's lived with you for years, and known you for all your life. The Judge may not be able to judge, but he can step in as witness, if it gets too bad."

That was something Julia, Aggie, and Goodie Knotham could all agreed on: You could be spared the humiliation, the trial, the conviction—all that could go wrong could easily be forestalled—as long as you had Judge Hopkins' support.

* * *

_AN: Yay, filler that isn't really filler. For those of you wondering, we're in late May now—and Aggie's trial isn't until September. We've got plenty of time to rack up backstories and drama. Also, a bit of foreshadowing in that very last line._

_Historical Notes & Extras: _

_Character profiles! _

_**Miss Sarah Warin—**__illegitimate sister of Reverend Eben Hardwick and an unnamed lawyer in London. She acted as Julia's eyes and ears to the outside village for much of Julia's life, and fills this role again during the Witch Trials. Her name comes from the mythological warin stones, believed to allow witches to watch or listen in on others from great distances._

_**Goodie Anna Knotham—**__wife of a farmer and town gossiper. A good friend of Goodie Prenderghast and acquaintance of Miss Sarah, she drinks too much, but everyone's too fond of her to do more than give her a slap on the wrist—besides, that's supposed to be her husband's job. Aggie calls her Tante Anna, tante being the Dutch word for Aunt. She's one of the few original characters that has existed in every version of this story, no matter the re-writes—mostly because I find the contrast between her and the people around her amusing. _

_**Amelia Wilcott**__—Custodian of the Garden. She tends to the shrubbery around the Courthouse, and makes extra money tending to the lawn of Judge Hopkins. She has a grudging respect for Julia due to Julia's good hand at gardening, but firmly believes there is something wrong with the child—after all, Judge Hopkins wouldn't have hidden her away but allowed her to garden if she was truly sickly. _

_**Reverend Eben Hardwick**__—preacher and lecturer. As the second-oldest legitimate half-sibling of Sarah Warin, he became a preacher and much of his father's wealth went to his older brother in London. Eben is easily intimidated, fainting sometimes during trials he is forced to be present in. Miss Sarah uses him as an unknowing mole, and often gets information on trials from him. She passes this on to Julia through sisterly gossip._

_**Helen Warin**__—unwed mother of Miss Sarah. She died during childbirth, and Tristan Hardwick, the child's father, took Sarah in. She greatly dislikes Eben Hardwick, Sarah's half-brother, and her ghost can often be seen near the Hardwick family house, grumbling about his presumptive behavior._

_**Tristan Hardwick**__—a mildly wealthy merchant, he had an affair with Helen Warin after which she was with child. His maids raised the resulting offspring, Sarah, though she was kept separate from her half-brother Eben and put to work as a maid as soon as she reached adulthood. After Tristian died, his oldest son inherited, his youngest son became a well-respected preacher, and Sarah found work with the Hopkins family. His ghost follows his daughter around apologetically, trying to do small things to assist her, but she takes no notice of him._

_The title this time is the idiom 'Toss Up"—a situation that is unclear, one that can go either way._

**Next Time: **We spend more time with Aggie and her family on a rainy day.


	11. Stuk 9: All Greek to Me

_This is the chapter that wouldn't be wrote. Seriously. The last three chapters came from me trying to segue into this part, but so much would happen I'd just cut off the chapter there and try to do it in the next one. _

_I tried to have a few happy moments in here, but they kept getting bogged down with plot details and emotional stuff—and that's hardly happy, considering the foregone ending. I'll try to have a happy chapter before the next big bombshell gets dropped, I promise._

* * *

Prenderghast Puzzle: Center Piece

Stuk 9: All Greek to Me

May 14th, 1712

When they weren't exploring the town and woods, Aggie and Julia could be found, during most hours of the day, around the Prenderghast household assisting with all sorts of chores. The Prenderghasts, despite the paternal member having a highly authoritative job, were not actually that monetarily well-off, and so functioned more like a farming family than an administrative one like Julia's. So from sun up to sun down, there was always plenty to do.

Samuel, at dawn, would make the trek to the harbor and stay there usually until sunset, so he rarely could help around the house. The eldest child and only son, Kenny, would often divide his time between assisting his father in the harbor, his neighbor with the construction of the new stables over the hill, and his mother with household maintenance. Aggie, before making friends with Julia, usually spent the day sewing, tending to the herb garden, or assisting in cooking the family's meals with her mother. Priscilla just maintained her position of adorable underfoot nuisance.

Goodie Prenderghast spent the day being a mother and, in between the hefty work that entailed, tended to the herb garden, prepared medicines, and treated the sick and dying. The borning room, which was in other houses used as a storage area unless someone in the family was giving birth or dying, was almost permanently blocked off from the men of the house and the younger children, as it had been converted years ago into a permanent sick bay.

Though lacking in sewing skills, Julia found happiness under Goodie Prendergast's tutelage in the garden and in the medicine room—something Goodie Prenderghast was highly thankful for.

As the house was small but well-loved, cozy but energetic fevers were not uncommon in the kitchen, which, due to there being too many people, also served as the Hall. Oftentimes, while assisting Goodie Prenderghast with the making of her medicines, Julia was accompanied by Aggie (usually sewing), Priscilla (avoiding supervision), Grandma Adelheid (supervising Priscilla), and a random assortment of ailing individuals, most of whom seemed bound and determined to out-stupid each other in the creative ways they injured themselves. Some did hurt themselves in serious accidents—and then you had some that walked on their axes by mistake.

On one notable rainy day in mid-May, while Goodie Prenderghast directed her in the preparation of a tincture to treat rheumatism, Julia counted no less than four people who arrived at the house to use Manon Prenderghast's sick room—unusual, given the time of year and how small the village was.

Upon seeing the first of them, Goodie Prenderghast rolled her eyes, turned to Julia, and said, "Well, I guess you have to put that aside, dearie, we'll be needing wound cream and skin purge. Aggie, can you get the compresses?"

As Julia began to put away the liquefied St. John's Wort flowers and licorice root, she listened carefully to the conversations of the guests.

"_Well, _Trilling? How exactly did you end up a mess this time?" Trust Goodie Prenderghast to reprimand while the man was bleeding out, Julia thought. She turned away to retrieve the pot of wound cream from the medicine counter.

"I was cutting a trail through some thick forest with a machete. As you can see, I'm wearing very short doublets, and I took my stockings off as they had gotten muddy. They probably would have protected me otherwise."

"Here, Moer…mother."

"Thanks, dear." A rustling. Julia turned from the counter to see Goodie Prendergast and another man, who must've helped Trilling limp to the house, leading the injured man into the sick bay.

"Well, after a time, I felt something crawl on my leg," the man continued from the other room as Julia peered in, waiting for a polite time to cut into the conversation. "I looked down and there was a spider. It was rather large, and I… took offense to it and swatted at it with the side of the machete blade."*

"He screamed like a woman, he means," the older man next to him corrected, grinning roguishly.

"…right. Well, the blade wasn't completely turned when it struck skin."

Goodie Prenderghast sighed, lifting up his leg, and looked at him. "You were just in here last week."

"For a completely unrelated incident, I assure you."

"What were you even doing out in the woods, lad?"

"Oh, well," Trilling reached over to his friend, who handed him a map out of his satchel. "Father Hardwick wanted us to cut an easy trail through Knob Hill. He wants to place the executions there."

Julia dropped the wound cream. _"Someone's scheduled an execution!?"_

"Careful!" cried Aggie, catching the jar as it fell.

"It doesn't do to eavesdrop, child," chided the older man next to Trilling.

"Nevertheless, Johnson, that was quite an alarming statement," Goodie Prenderghast said, steering the conversation away from the children. "Who is to be executed?"

"Oh, no one yet, Sister Prenderghast. Father Hardwick's just planning ahead."

Well, if that wasn't ominous.

Aggie poked her on the shoulder. "I know the recipe for the skin purgent; we'd probably do best to get that ready."

Julia nodded and left the wound cream in the sick bay.

* * *

Skin purge was relatively simple, although Julia could still see that it was brilliant. The problem, however, was that she was hardly halfway through its preparation when another patient knocked on the door.

This time it was Julia who answered.

"Oh, dear," cried the woman out front. "A mourning girl—the nursewoman isn't too occupied, is she?" The woman was carrying the weight of a rather large man, who was to her right and leaning on her heavily.

Julia looked down at her black dress. "Oh! No, this is a misunderstanding. There's nobody deceased here. She's tending to another man now, though; please come in."

Julia grabbed the ill man by his other arm and led them into the sick bay, to the bed next to Trilling. Goodie Prenderghast nodded at her as she passed, smiled at the new patients, and whispered in Julia's ear as she turned to leave, "Fetch the flu syrup please, and the plague repellant as well, if you could. And tell Aggie to brew some Elderbloom tea."

Julia nodded and left the room, heading back to the kitchen where Aggie sat darning socks at the table.

"I've never seem them before." Aggie said quietly, eyes still focused on her stitchwork. "Perhaps they're from another town?"

"Maybe. Your mother wants you to make some Elderbloom tea."

"Fever, then." But instead of filling another kettle for the stove (one was already heating to create more compresses), she leaned in closer to Julia. "What do you think about Reverend Hardwick?"

Ah, the crux. "I don't know what to think, but I don't like the sound of it. I don't believe Father's heard of any of this 'planning ahead'—he'd have told me about it if he had."

"Thither, thither, children," came a voice, and the two of them turned to see Aggie's grandmother Adelheid addressing them. "Aggie, go endue thy mother what she needs, and then sit down with me. It's best to leave the adults to their work, and how long hath it been since I've told thee a story?"

"You're going to tell a story?" Aggie asked, and then glanced meaningfully over at Julia. "With her here?"

Julia, slightly offended, was about to ask what exactly Aggie meant by that when Grandma Adelheid responded, "Well, she already knows, doesn't she?"

Her mind clicked the connections together. "Should we really be telling stories like that in here?" She pointed towards the door to the borning room, not six paces away.

"Out back, then. There's an easy chair f'r me to sit upon." She waved Aggie away to the stove. "Go anon, child, and pray thou not get tangl'd in mo'o* chores."

As Aggie spring to the stove to prepare the tea, Julia studied the eldest Prenderghast, wondering - not for the first time - where on Earth she had actually come from. She knew from Aggie that her father and mother had traveled to Massachusetts from Amsterdam—their ship missing New York due to a storm—and had originally been from the Dutch Republic. Most members of the family seemed to use Dutch terms of address. However, Adelheid—Dutch though she was by accent and name—spoke mostly in the dead Elizabethan tongue, to the point where even Aggie sometimes struggled to understand her. To Julia, this made no sense—perhaps she had picked up the speech pattern from ghosts? But why follow the tongue of ghosts and ignore the speech of the living?

While she pondered, Grandma Adelheid led her out into the back garden, sitting down in a crudely made rocking chair in the shade behind the house and leaving Julia to find a stable piece of fence post to lean on. They sat there in silence for some time, quiet, heavy air punctuated by wimpish shrieking from the inside borning room as Goodie Prenderghast treated her patients.

"Our family is ancient, thou see," the old woman suddenly began without prompt, rocking back and forwards with her clouded, murky heptagonal eyes staring off into the treeline. She had never once made eye contact with anyone, so far as Julia could tell. Perhaps she was blind? "Mine parents—and their parents—often told me of a time when we wast worshipp'd as augurers. Hundreds of years ago, yea the church thought us as prophets—our young ones wast taken in by cloisters and monasteries, rais'd in the way of the Good Book, and, when ag'd enough, present'd 'ere the local villages to begin working what the church saw as miracles. A few cardinals wast of our family. The papacy, at one point. And we're not uncommon amongst the Saints.

"Our blood was priz'd as gold, our daughters offer'd to kings of all lands. Supposedly, we now hast relatives in Russia, the Holy, Spanish, and Ottoman empires, and yea China. Some call'd us shamans—others call'd us gods. Gramercy to our eyes, our lineage hath spread around this world, Old and New. Whence others suffered, we had been consider'd blessed, special, and wast spar'd most of the hardships of this world.

"Perhaps then 'tis only just that misfortune fall on us eventually. The time of peace with death in the Old World hath ended—ev'r since it show'd its hand so severely ov'r four-hundr'd years past.* Nay longer art we preachers, confessors, 'r bless'd at all—death is beshrew'd, sickness is beshrew'd, and peace will not save anyone anon. And so we hast fallen, as all things doth, back into commonality. All families art like this. We hast all our day of notoriety. But it seems that with our drifting from the eyes of god, others' eyes hast forgotten to see what is important."

The old woman looked up at Julia, who was listening transfixedly from her place on the fence as she sweat under the blazing mid-afternoon sun. "We hast liv'd our lives as any other folk, weav'd our tales throughout this world—some good, some bad. Thither is a price and gain to every interaction. Ranker so, sometimes, with us Prenderghasts. Thou may wot of us mo'o than others, but I cannot let a half-hearter so near mine granddaughter. Art thou willing to accept gift and price?"

Birds fluttering in the dying wind, humidity rising from the distant sea, and a choir of faintly buzzing insets - the very sounds of summer heat - accompanied the silence. The burning sun flushed Julia's cheeks under her black veil. Her hands, unfamiliarly sweaty without her gloves and smelling vaguely of mint and jewelweed and sour milk, were folded together, a mass of damp, twitching muscles.

But her eyes—unseen by every soul save her mother and father, unseen by even herself, strange outlets that they were—were lively and fixed upon the old woman in the rocking chair, who still stared, blindly, out into the forest, her rocking momentum seeming for all the world as barmy and distant as if she'd never said anything at all—and surely not something so serious. The buzz of cicadas increased.

And the back door burst open.

"Grandma, your story book is gone. Grandma?" Aggie looked around, spotted the rocking chair in the shade, and peered down, face becoming level with her grandmother's. "Grandma?"

"Speak louder, child." The old woman responded, silver-blue eyes still staring into the distance. "Mine old ears can't hear thy voice so soft."

"_Your story book is gone,"_ Aggie said a little louder, glancing and Julia and shrugging apologetically.

"The coch'neal cheveril one with the sleeping maiden?"

"Yes, Grandma."

"Then doth alert thy mother to its misplacement. Mine father was a bookbinder, and gave that forth upon thy mother's birth. That it shouldst be so carelessly misplac'd…"

The old woman teetered off, both in speaking and in rocking, and they all stood in silence waiting for her to finish. Aggie, standing in the open doorway (and only partially muting the sounds of whimpering from the borning room), met Julia's gaze, questioning in nature, and decided to be merciful.

"Well, grandma," she said, "thank you for offering to tell us stories, but from the sounds of the sick room we've got our work cut out for us. Come on, Julie, Moerder wants that purgent."

Julia hopped off the fence post and nodded respectfully to Grandma Adelheid as she passed, who herself made no attempt to get up. Julia could have sworn, however, that the old woman glanced at her measuringly when she shut the door behind her.

Aggie and Julia returned to the sick bay to find the man with the fever was staying the night and the other man, Trilling, was undergoing stitches in his leg. Returning to their duties sped up the treatment process, and soon Trilling and his older (curiously continuously unnamed) friend left the Prenderghast's abode, Manon and the woman accompanying the flu patient exchanging dark looks as they did—causing Aggie and Julia to exchange worried looks of their own.

Julia never was able to give Grandma Adelheid the answer to her strange question—though she knew it herself, and kept it with her forever. The old woman was right; half-hearted people should have never interacted with Agatha Prenderghast. The price for knowing her, the gift for knowing her, was the same price and gift that came with truly knowing and caring about anyone, magnified because the old woman noticed the storm clouds no one else saw. This price was the same with anyone who became close: a small chunk of one's own heart.

The price was worrying: for Puritans, fear was the dollar of the day.

* * *

_**AN: Was the ending too… wordy, at the end? I don't know. **_

_**I've always thought the Prenderghast family must've had more to it. I mean, with an inherited ability like that, it ****probably**** didn't start with Aggie. And yes, she lived in a close-minded society fearful of death and the supernatural and everything else. But not all cultures are like that, and Aggie's existence guarantees ancestors with the same ability that lived and thrived in earlier cultures. And not all of those cultures necessitated hiding. **_

_*This story of how Trilling injured himself was inspired by a conversation on reddit about the stupidest ways to injure oneself. Several people shared similar stories._

_*Knob Hill—those who read the books might remember this place by name. Those who didn't can probably guess why it was mentioned._

_*Mo'o – Elizabethan way of saying "more." Usually written as "moo," but I feared that would be hard to take seriously, and there was no set spelling back then for how the word should be written. "Wot" is, similarly, an old word for "know."_

I'll try to update Act 3 next.


	12. Stuk 10: Don't Be a Stranger

_Okay, I lied. The lighter chapter is after this one—"Intermission." After Intermission, it's a slippery slope from here, everybody, straight down to the bottom._

_To clear up something before we begin, one of my friends have recently asked me about the discrepancy in Goodie Prenderghast's first name(s). Manon—for her name is properly Manon—goes by her name's English equivalent, "Mary," when interacting with the townsmen, mostly because English settlers did not have an amicable relationship with the Dutch at the time (they divided the British colonies—the Dutch had already settled most of New York, which, incidentally, had been the Prenderghast's intended immigration destination. Their ship went off course.) They also switch to English honorifics (Moerder to Mother or Mommy) when in the presence of people who would make a big deal about it. It was common knowledge that the Prenderghasts came from Amsterdam, but to avoid conflicts, Dutch was subdued outside the home._

* * *

Prenderghast Puzzle: Center Piece

Stuk 10: Don't Be a Stranger

June 21st, 1712

Agatha discovered the truth behind the Hopkins' misery on the first day of summer, through a very simple thing. It started with something common to all girls: doing up one's hair.

Aggie had been sent by her father to retrieve shipping records from the common when a midday storm swept the green, and she'd taken shelter from the afternoon downpour in the Hopkin's kitchen, welcomed in by the sight of Cook waving her arms madly through the air and gesturing to the open kitchen door.

To say Julia was surprised at Aggie dropping in would be a lie; she slipped into their house more frequently than the local stray cats Miss Sarah fed and often just as quietly. On this occasion, whilst Aggie suggested perusing through Julia's more extensive collection of books to pass the time (though admittedly, she couldn't read most of them), Julia refused to let her in until she cleaned herself up—her hair was vines and leaves, she smelled of the muck in the road, and she had tracked mud all over the kitchen.

Aggie removed her boots, and Julia took her upstairs to scrub her hands and face. But as it turned out, Aggie was as terrible at her own hair as she was her sister's.

"Here," Julia said bluntly, taking the piece of string from Aggie's hands, "Let me do it for you."

Aggie sat down on one of the chairs at the side of Julia's bed and folded her hands in her lap. Despite Aggie's knot of black locks, Julia was very gentle, carefully untangling her unruly hair while making sure not to pull.

Aggie giggled slightly. "Experienced at this, are you? You really were an older sister."

"I was a younger sister, too, once upon a time." Aggie could hear the lament in her voice. "I drove Ezekiel crazy nevertheless. Father always used to get short when I brought it up, but I was craftier than Ezekiel, and whenever we disagreed I could weave traps around him in any argument. That particular ability seems to be a trait I inherited from my dear father."

"I know he and your sister died," Aggie said, figuring there was no point in hiding that as Julia already knew the circumstances of which they met, "but I never asked how." Turning to judge the expression on Julia's face, she quickly added, "You don't have to tell me if it's too sensitive, sorry."

Julia shook her head. "No, it's not. Death is a fact of life, it is not something we can control and thus not something we should spend life harping over. Accidents happen, it's not like anyone wished for her death."

Despite her assurances, Aggie could hear the rehearsed, practiced air, as if her friend was still besieged herself to believe what she said but felt it was the response owed to the world. As much a natural Judge as her father, Aggie thought. Always struggling to keep a level head and a clinical façade. She wondered if there was a connection between Julia's tendency to put reason before heart and her father's aged and schooled perspective of justice before sympathy. She shivered.

Tying up a portion of Aggie's hair, Julia continued, "It was a little over ten months ago, you see. She was the first person from any wealth who died from it. The Yellow Fever, until then, hadn't gotten to anyone but the fishermen and the farmers—not that that still wasn't a tragedy." Finishing with the knot, Julia went around Aggie's seat and sat on the bed across from her. "She lasted five days, but she was a small thing and wasn't quite strong enough, and she died in the early morning. I fell sick shortly after, and Ezekiel after that, but poor Ezekiel never got better."

"And your mother?" Aggie asked with morbid curiosity, before quickly shutting her mouth went she saw Julia's face.

Julia had stilled, face pale, form unmoving. Her eyes were wide and empty and she stared unflinchingly at the ground. For a moment Aggie feared she was having another panic attack like the one she had in the tree, before Julia got off the bed and went over to her vanity table to put the hairbrush away. It was as if she hadn't heard Aggie at all.

And Aggie could take a hint. Instead of persisting, she got up and walked over to her friend, peering at both of their images in the mirror. "Do you want me to do your hair now?"

Julia turned to her, voice and person suddenly revived, eyebrow raised though Aggie couldn't see it through the veil. "With your skills? Not in the least. And here I thought you were an older sister." She smiled ever so slightly to let Aggie know she was teasing. "Ah well, Priscilla is still young. You have time to learn."

"…so I can practice?"

"On my hair? Certainly not."

* * *

But just because Aggie's friend hadn't told her didn't mean she wasn't going to find out. After all, how is one supposed to avoid a topic if one does not know what she is supposed to avoid?

The problem was, if it had anything to do with the Yellow Fever—and no doubt it did, what with Julia's response—no one would be willing to talk about it with her. It wasn't proper to tell an eleven-year-old girl of such morbid things, after all.

She couldn't very well ask the ghosts. Most of them didn't bother much with the living, and the ones who did weren't on very good terms with her. She couldn't ask Julia's mother herself, either - she'd never seen the woman, not even after death. Her best bet, then, was the same person she always went to for information about the town. Her possible source, if found in a good mood, could never resist telling others bits of information that she had squirreled away inside her head.

It was getting dark and looked like it was about to rain again, so she scurried up the road, all hustle and bustle. Luckily, the woman lived on the route Aggie took on the way back to her house.

She found the woman, as always, leaning on her husband's picket fence and talking with a couple of farmers from out of town who seemed to be on their way to sell their goods in Basse River.

"You know, I have some family out that way," said Goodie Knotham, the woman who seemed to have family everywhere. "My cousin Marion's just had her third miscarriage, poor thing. We're all praying that that husband of hers doesn't leave her on account of her inability to _deliver,_ if you know what I mean. I mean, really… Well Hel_-lo_, Agatha! And how're you doing this fine evening?"

Looking up at the beaming woman whose face was barely illuminated in the metal lantern she held, Aggie wondered how she could be so happy after talking about such a grim subject.

"Fine, thank you."

The woman smiled warmly. "Ah, there's a dear, always so polite. Aggie's Mary's star, she is," the woman fondly told the farmers. "Going to grow up a fine seamstress like your mother, isn't that right?"

Aggie smiled shyly. "I'm still having some trouble with embroidery."

The woman laughed. "Ah, but everyone starts somewhere, and if you're already at embroidery than you've got talent. Don't be modest, Aggie, the Lord gives gifts for people to use them!" Again she addressed the farmers. "Her mother's also a crack at home remedies; you should go to her, Charles, if your foot's still acting up on your way back. No point in paying the doctor if you can avoid it, right?" She laughed again, then turned back to Aggie. "Now, what is it, love?"

"I…" There was such merriment; it was hard to have to be the one to spoil it. "I wanted to know… what happened to Julia's mother."

The woman's merry face froze. She was still smiling, but the cheer no longer met her eyes. Aggie and never seen her serious before. If this is what 'serious' looked like, it was kind of disturbing.

The men also seemed to find this unusual, and were paying great attention.

Finally, she answered. "It's not something we talk about, dear. It's not proper."

Well this was new. Goodie Knotham was never one for caring about propriety—it was one of the things about her that would have driven the more serious people in town mad if she wasn't so darn likeable.

"But," Aggie said, quick to argue her case, "But I need to know. Julia… she seems to get upset about it, she always tries to avoid it, and sometimes I'll say something and she'll become so cold and I won't know why. I don't want to make her feel bad, but if I don't know what to avoid, I'll just keep messing up."

While Goodie Knotham thought about it, one of the farmers from out of town spoke up.

"Who is this 'Julia'?" His voice was strange, like he was trying to sing while speaking. "I have been coming here in the different seasons to sell my crops for many years, and I have never heard that name in this village before."

"Oh," Goodie Knotham said, looking slightly more comfortable with the morbid conversation now that it was directed at an adult. "Julia's Judge Hopkins' girl. His only surviving child, you know; the others died when the Yellow Fever came through here. She's apparently always had some significant health issues, so she stays inside most of the time. Before she met our Aggie here, the only time I ever saw her was at her family's funerals. Sad time," she sighed, frowning for the first time Aggie could remember. "Sad time."

"Then I suppose," said the other farmer, in a much less lyrical voice than his companion, "that her mother died of the Yellow Fever too? Judge Hopkins seems very set on finding those responsible for setting it on you."

"No, no, though he is _very_ dedicated to that. Nonsense, though. If you could stop the plague by catching witches, Salem wouldn't have been hit nearly so bad. No, Julia's mother's another story. Saw Cecily's body myself, when they took her away."

"What happened?" Aggie asked, alarmed, but she regretted it immediately because it seemed to remind Goodie Knotham that she was there.

The woman looked at her, considering. Finally she sighed.

"It was the day after Ezekiel died." To the farmers, she said, "Ezekiel was her first born. First Abigail died—her youngest, only three—then Julia got sick, then went poor Ezekiel. You know, the boy always pined over Giles Abery's girl, Agnes; he was such a sweet heart—"

Aggie cleared her throat.

"All right, all right, I'm getting to it." The woman huffed. "Anyway, Ezekiel's death was a surprise. He wasn't too bright, not like his sister, I hear," here she winked at Aggie, "but he was strong as a buck, and his death where his sickly sister lived was a real shocker. Of course, we didn't know Julia was going to live at the time; she seemed just as close to death as he had been. Twenty-Second of September, it was, but strangely we hadn't really started feeling the chill. With Julia in the throes of the Fever and the other two dead as door nails, I suppose it's a wonder her head didn't turn sooner. I hear she locked herself up in her room after little Abby died. Didn't even bother to take care of Julia. Pr'haps she just couldn't take it."

The farmers stared at her, and Aggie rolled her eyes. Goodie Knotham was a master of building suspense, or, if you really didn't like beating around the bush, prolonging stories to the point of irritation. But the woman seemed to stop, instead gazing down at Aggie and looking into her eyes.

"She came down from the roof."

Aggie blinked, unsure of her meaning. Came down from the roof? Aggie's own mother went up and down the roof all the time; often her father was too busy working with the captains in the harbor to check on the state of the gables. Some called it disgraceful and improper, but her mother called it necessity and said that there was nothing improper about doing what you had to in order to survive.

"Came down from the roof?" Aggie repeated, still unsure. Did she fall or something?

"Yep," said the woman. The farmers looked alarmed, and Aggie couldn't help feeling she was missing something. "Right past her daughter's window. Poor girl had just broken from her fever that morning. Saw the whole thing."

So she _did_ fall from the roof? "That's terrible," Aggie said out loud. Thinking of her great expanse of funeral knowledge, she said, "I suppose they had a double funeral, then? For her mother and Ezekiel?"

The woman sniffed. "Nah, you know what those old fuss pots are like. They were in too much a hurry to bury the boy; he'd caught the Fever, after all, and no one really knows how that goes around. They nailed together a coffin quick and threw him in the ground over in the family plot. His tombstone was put together later. And there was no funeral at all for Cecily, poor thing; such that it wasn't allowed. Wasn't proper."

She wasn't allowed a funeral? What…?*

Oh.

_Oh._

"So… so where did they put her?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Somewhere out in the forest. No clue where. They barely ever mark that stuff correctly." The woman sighed. "Girl's lived a hard life, that Julia. I certainly wouldn't want to have woken up from the Fever to see what she's seen. The Judge took it hard, though. He barely ever leaves the courtroom; set out the morning after Cecily died like clockwork. He's a broken man."

"Tragedy follows us all, these days," said the second traveling farmer in his deep, morose voice. "My cousin Leonard attempted the very same thing. He survived, God bless. He's in the prison now; he's still got a few years left."

Goodie Knotham crinkled a weary smile. "You got a cousin in prison? So do I—Ol' Henry Jackson never seems to watch his mouth. I keep expecting my Aunt to start knocking heads!" She sighed candidly and the two farmers chuckled.

Aggie, sensing there was nothing more she could get and nothing more she wanted, left for home, feeling weighed down by the world and entirely off-balance.

Suicide. And here she had thought the witch trials were fueled by the plague.

_**End Act 1, Part 1: Making a Scene. **_

* * *

_AN: We invite you to enjoy the snacks at the rear of the auditorium, but would like to inform you that Intermission will last only a short while. Please return to your seats at the end of the Intermission, as the lights will dim and traversing the isles will become more dangerous._

_Kidding, kidding. _

_Yes, I did just drop that bombshell. No, this isn't the last of how messed up this story is going to get._


End file.
